Forced To Fight
by RainbowTeeth8
Summary: "I wanted to talk to you. He is suddenly holding my hand between both of his. "Please listen." "I will. I'll just stop when i don't like what you're saying." His hands are strong,calloused. Perfect. "Please don'tlet yourself die. Please."His hands slide into my hair."Please, Irina." Irina is a Career from District 2 who is forced to volunteer. Willa twist of events end her life?
1. One: The Beginning

Chapter One

My body tells that I am awake before my eyes open. I hear the birds in the trees, twittering joyfully, and the soft, familiar snoring emerges from the room to my left. I roll over onto my side, the bed creaking, and curl my body into a ball. If only the world would let me sleep a while longer…

It doesn't seem to work that way. The birds are still persistent; flapping their wings like it is them with my fists. My shoulder hurts from where I've been sleeping on it, and I message it with my hand to get the numbness to go away. It works, somewhat, and I roll out of bed, sleepily undressing out of my silky pajamas, green and white made of expensive fabric, and wrap my robe around my body. It is still early, and I shiver, hurrying down the hall after I creak open the door.

The bathing room is steaming, the tub looking inviting, but I can tell someone has been in here before me; there is a splash of water on the floor that I almost slip in. I throw a towel down and close the door behind me, spinning the lock. The steam fogs up the mirrors, and I rub away a spot to see my face.

The same freckles I have had since I was born freckle the bridge of my nose, more sun-induced ones spread out over my cheeks. I have a sharp chin, so sharp my brother, Vander, and my father used to tease me I would poke a hole in all my shirts. My mother used to defend me, though now that I reflect, it wasn't truly a defense. She always used to say if I _did _happen to poke a hole in my shirt, she would sew it for me.

My black hair hangs in loose strands down my back, looking slept on and matted. I would say my hair is my best feature, most people say so. I'd like to think it attracts attention from my chin.

By now, the mirror has fogged up, and I pull away from the small portion of my reflection I can see. I drape my robe around the hook on the back of the door and climb the two steps to get to the large bath. As soon as my first foot hits the bottom, the rest of my body follows in one fluid motion, sinking into the bubbles like it is a warm embrace. I feel myself smiling, breathing in deeply.

I dunk my head under after I close my eyes. The water stings my eyelids, trying to make its way through to my eyes, and my hair fans out on the top of the water. I stay beneath the surface until I count to 20, and then slowly come up for air.

Realizing I've used up too much of my time already, I wash my hair more hurriedly then I usually would have, digging my fingers into my scalp in the process. I use my mother's expensive shampoo, the kind we've had for ages and only use on special occasions. My mother hardly buys shampoo anymore. Come to think of it, I can't remember the last time she bought us anything.

I wrap myself in a towel, a big fluffy white one, and comb out my hair so it is flowing down my back again. Someone has put a nice neat pile of clothes outside of the door, and I dress in the bathing room. The clothes smell like starch, but I can tell they are new, made especially for me. I remember my father taking me to the fitting months ago, for my new Reaping clothes. This is a big deal in District 2.

I smooth my hand over the new green blouse I am wearing. It fits me tightly, hugging my body in all the write places, but the tailor seems to have brought it in a bit too much at my hip. The seams of the black fabric stretch and pull at my skin, but I pull the darker green skirt on over it. It makes it look a bit better, but I will have to remember not to breathe for a while. Overall, I look sophisticated, or as much as I can be on a day like this

I come down the stairs barefoot, making as little noise as possible. It is impossible to tell which sort of mood my mother will be in. I am hoping it is one of her highs, her busy-body stage where everything must be perfect, everything must be done. But then again, I almost wish she were at a lower mood, then she wouldn't have such devastation when she lost interest in whatever she was doing to cause her high. Her disease is something you are forced to live with. Her moods change rapidly; she will have interest in the strangest things that have nothing to do with anything reasonable. And then when she gets bored, she gets really depressed and angry. It's hard for any of us to remember a time when she was sane.

It seems she's at one of her lows right now. No breakfast on the table like she made last year for Reaping. There had been bacon and eggs and an entire plate of golden toast with orange juice and jam. The table is bare this year.

"Disappointed?" I hear a voice from the kitchen. Vander is sinking his teeth into an apple, leaning against the counter.

"No, I expected it." I snap back. He grins and tosses me an apple, a sour green one. I take a bite and pucker at the bitterness. "It was sort of nice last year, though."

My brother smiles ruefully and straightens the collar of his stiff shirt. He was probably miss-measured too; I can see it's a bit tight on him. Vander is 17, a year older than me, and just as heavily trained as I am. They call us Careers here, though neither of us will be volunteering until we are 18. "Yeah. But I haven't seen bacon in the house since then."

I sit down at the table, drumming my bitten fingernails on the surface. "You look nice."

"So do you. Your hair's a little damp, though." He teases, taking another bite of his apple.

"I was hoping maybe Mom would be okay enough to do it for me." I tell him with a snap. He knows that I am the most sensitive about our mother's disorder. Our father works, gets us into training, yet never takes care of his wife when she needs him most. That is the reason I hate him.

"Sorry, maybe I could try to?" he offers. Sometimes Vander is very protective over me, I'm pretty sure he would take a bullet for me if the chance came along. He's more of a parent then our mother or father ever was. "I'm not very good at braiding, I should warn you." He sits down beside me.

I lean up and kiss his cheek. There is still a bit of morning scruff he missed while he was shaving. "Thank you."

He smiles that smile I love, the one where the one corner of his mouth can't help tugging up towards his right ear.

We sit in silence, stiff in our Reaping clothes. Neither of us is afraid of the Hunger Games. District 2 is full of Careers that train at the Academy since they were young, like us, and volunteer in the place of whatever name is drawn. Next year, Vander will have to decide whether he will volunteer or retire from the training and pursue a different career.

Our father comes into the kitchen, dressed in his best clothes, similar to Vander's. His black eyes look tired and droopy, like he's stayed up all night for something. I don't understand why, both I and Vander are safe from the Reaping until we decide to volunteer. He immediately looks to me, picking with my stubby nails at my apple core.

"Irina, I need to speak with you." He growls under his breath. His face is thick with facial hair, and I can tell he hasn't shaved in a few days. I don't see my father often, seeing him like this is a shock. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Vander's sharp, green eyes widen, and his body becomes stiff.

"Al-Alright." I stammer, shooting him a glance from the corner of my eye.

"Vander." He turns his attention to his only son. "I need to speak to Irina alone."

Vander puts his hands up and backs out of the kitchen, into the living room. My father calls an annoyed "Keep your clothes clean!" and turns his beady eyes back to me. I raise my thin eyebrows at him.

"Happy Reaping Day." He tells me half-heartedly. I can tell my eyes are darkening, as they always do when I am angry.

"Sure." I shrug, keeping as calm as I can. My father angers me more than anyone does.

"You're handy with a knife, Irina." Says my father. "I've seen you, you're the best in your age group."

It's true. If someone stood against a wall and let me throw knives at them, I'd probably be able to give them a professional haircut while doing that alone.

"Yeah." I pick out a seed from the core of my apple that is suddenly very interesting.

"Your mother is sick, you know." He clears his throat. Of course she is, she was diagnosed years ago. Not that you would know, I'm the one who takes care of her. "We're losing money, Rina."

"I'll get a job." I say.

"I need you to do something else." He reaches out and takes my hand. He hasn't held my hand in years, probably not since I was 8 years old. You grow up quicker when you're in training to kill people professionally. "Irina, you know I love you, don't you?"

"No." I feel my mouth becoming a flat line. I can't remember the last time he told me something so affectionate.

He growls and throws my hand back at me. "Irina, you're going to volunteer."

"I'm only 16." I growl back. Careers are almost always a strict 18 years old, the maximum age for the Hunger Games. I should have expected he would try something like this. I am more of a fighter than Vander ever will be. "I'm not going to."

My father reaches out and smacks me hard across the cheek. I hardly flinch, watching him clench his teeth. "Yes. You are, Irina."

I lean back in my chair, staring at him. His handprint stings on my cheek, but I don't reach up to touch it. The realization is just sinking in; I will be volunteering for the Hunger Games. A shiver runs through my body, and I suddenly feel too exposed in my Reaping clothes.

"Irina, do you understand me?" he takes my sharp chin in his hand and jerks it around to look him in the eyes. I look down and try to pull away.

"Yes." I finally separate from him, pushing my chair back from the kitchen table, making loud skidding noises on the hardwood floor. My jaw clenches as I turn to leave the room, angry at my father for expecting too much of me, for wanting me to kill children on live television. "By the way, you got my Reaping clothes too tight."


	2. Two: The Shock

Chapter Two

The Square is crowded and claustrophobic as soon as I enter with Vander. He holds my arm tightly, as he always does when he is nervous and doesn't want to admit it. My fingernails dig into my palm, and I feel a small amount of blood being produced on my palm. It mixes with the sweat and I wipe it on my skirt.

"Can you find your way alright to the 16 year olds?" Vander asks me, slipping his hand into mine. He is 17, a year and 5 months older than me, and next year, if our father finds him ready, he will volunteer.

"I'm 16 now, you don't have to hold my hand." I tell him, and he lets go of my hand. I let it drop to my side, and he squares his shoulders to look at me. I haven't told him what I am going to do. What our father is forcing me to do.

"Come here." He whispers, wrapping me in a hug. I am much shorter than him, my hair just brushing under his chin. He smells nice, like Vander, like lemon grass. He kisses the top of my head and brushes his hands over my hair that I have let hang loose down my back. I wrap my arms around his neck and lean into his chest, feeling the hard muscles beneath his too-tight shirt.

"I don't know what you're worried about." I whisper, my ear pressed to his chest. My voice is shaking, how it always does when I lie to my brother, which I hate doing.

"Neither do I." he chuckles lightly, trying to lighten the dim mood. "I guess it's just pre-Reaping jitters."

"Don't worry." I give his muscular back one last pat and finally pull away. "We need to go stand with the other kids now."

"Right." He lets me go. It almost feels like he is our mother, back when we were younger. She would take both of our hands; lead us down the street and into town for school. I remember being scared to leave my brother, scared to be on my own on my first day. I remember my mother leaning down, wiping my tears away and kissing both of my cheeks. I will bring that memory with me to the Capitol, into the Hunger Games.

I find my way into the mob of 16 year old girls waiting for the Reaping. There are some faces I know, but no one in this crowd ever associates with me. The Careers are an extremely exclusive group; we don't have time for friends. That is the greatest thing I will regret if I die.

I spot my father and mother finding a place within the throng of people gathering around in the District 2 Square. Soon the Reapings will take place, the choosing of a boy and girl from the ages of 12 to 18 by raffle to take place in the Hunger Games, a fight to the death on live television. Everyone is required to attend the Reapings. My father has his hand harshly wrapped around my mother's wrist, pulling her through the crowd. I can tell almost immediately that she is in one of her deep depressions, she has her hands over her ears like the entire world is hurting them.

"Welcome!" There is a sudden booming voice speaking into the microphone. A bright flash of light catches my eye, and I spot, in my opinion, the ugliest man in the world. He is the District 2 escort, Cillian MacDonald. His sparkling, gold cape whips in the slight breeze, and his jeweled boots catch almost as much light as the two polished Reaping Bowls. "It feels great to be back in District 2!"

Cillian MacDonald is probably one of the most ridiculed people in the world of District 2. For one, he dresses like a girl, and two, if he were a girl, he would have very bad taste. Just looking at the man hurts your eyes, with his skin that shines light a light bulb and his metallic looking hair. He wears these sort of contacts that make his eyes look like that of a cat's, and his hair sticks up in multiple directions. The camera crew zooms in on his face.

Behind him sits the previous victors of District 2, all 6 of them. My district has been winning the Hunger Games for years, a constant competition between District 1, 2 and 4. Out of all 47 of the years of the Games already, we have had 9 winners. 3 are dead.

I mostly recognize our most famous victor, Brutus. He won just last year, and the woman who won the year before him, Lyme, sits next to him. Neither of them looks happy.

"As usual, we have a big crowd here!" Cillian tries desperately to keep the crowd alive. "Once again, I tell you how great it is to escort one brave man and one brave woman of the most successful district in all of Panem!"

There is hardy cheering from the crowd, fists being thrown in the air with pride and whooping and chest beating. As usual, the muscular Careers stand out over the rest. I stand quietly, arms at my sides, lips tight.

"Let's start the Reapings off with our lady's drawings! Best of luck to the two of you!" I know, along with any other person in this crowd, that it doesn't matter who is drawn, someone is going to volunteer. One of them is going to be me.

Cillian digs his glowing, Capitol-enhanced hand into the first glass bowl on the right, digging his fingers around in the tiny slips of paper. He surfaces with one, smiling with his gold teeth. He holds it up so all of us and the camera crew can see, and unfolds it for his eyes only. He clears his throat, taking longer than it should.

"Ev-"

"I volunteer!" The bellow leaves my lips like a bird taking off in flight. Eyes immediately turn to me, hundreds and hundreds of eyes on my face. Anyone who knows me is shocked. I am 16, too young, not ready.

"Irina!" there is a shout from the crowd. "NO! Stop, _NO_!" Vander emerges from the crowd of 17 year old boys, his face plastered with fear. I look at him for a moment, my eyes watering slightly, but I won't cry. His eyes are wide, flashing with anger and confusion. He dives towards me, but a throng of peacekeepers restrain him. There is a path made for me, and I find my way to the middle of the aisle.

"This is what I have to do." I tell him quietly, so only he can hear. He is pulling on the restrains, trying to grab ahold of me. I spot our parents, our father looking satisfied and our mother looking confused. "I'll be alright, I promise."

"NO!" he screams, and the square is almost completely silent. "NO! Dad did this, didn't he! Dad, NO! She's only 16, you're signing her up to die!" He yanks around to glare at our father's smug face, his eyes filled with hatred. "How could you – how could you even –"

"Alright, come on up here, darling!" Cillian cries, his voice rising an octave. "Come on, up to the stage."

I make my way through the crowd, avoiding Vander's cries of protest. He is yelling now, fighting the peacekeepers with all his might. My shoes make little clicking noises as I climb the steps, and I take Cillian's hand as he offers it to me. When I stand next to him, I can smell his fruity perfume.

"What's your name, darling girl?" he holds the microphone out for me so it is right under my nose.

"Irina Radke." I speak clearly into the microphone. My voice doesn't shake at all, I am strong and steady. I always knew this day would come anyway; it is just a bit early.

"I'll bet that's your brother, then?" The crowd chuckles along with him, watching Vander struggle along with the peacekeepers. They are now dragging him out of the square as he fights them tooth and nail.

"Yes." I answer.

"Well, let's hear it for District 2's female tribute!" Cill cries, and there is cheering and hooting from the crowd. Let's not forget the screams of my brother.

"On to the boy's then!" Cillian pushes me aside so I am standing by the girl's Reaping bowl. I watch him dig around in the little slips of paper, and then turn my attention to the floor of the stage. The wooden boards I am standing on are crooked, like maybe they are laid down wrong by whoever constructed this foundation. There are a few sparkles on the floor, probably from Cillian's cape or hair. No one in District 2 would be caught wearing sparkles in public.

My escort's claw continues to dig around in the boy's Reaping bowl, and I hesitantly turn around. There are 6 faces staring back at me, the remaining District 2 victors. Brutus is closest to me, his blank, black eyes staring at me in such a way I have to think of the phrase "_If look could kill_." He is glaring at me, leaned back in his chair with one of his arms over the armrests like he is as comfortable as can be watching to children volunteer to fight to the death.

I raise my eyebrows questioning him. He smirks back, just one side of his lips pulling upwards, raising his cheek ever so slightly. He is actually quite handsome in a dark sort of way, he has eyes that are so dark his pupils nearly disappear. He sports dark hair that falls over his forehead in little waves, just above his thick eyebrows. He is muscular, nothing less than expected, but almost slim in a way, like it is surprising that there are muscles under his pale skin. He is mysterious and young, a new and fresh victor the Capitol seems to adore. I remember him using his charisma to get what he wanted in the games.

I turn away from his half-smile, catching the eye of Lyme. She is huge, not as slight in build as Brutus. She is over 6 feet tall, a giant of a woman with broad shoulders squared at my body. Her hair is cropped short, almost like a boy's, but it suits her face, which I wouldn't use any other word to describe it besides unforgettable. To me, she looks like she resembles a Siamese cat, pulled and polished features. Her nose curves up in a sharp angle, her cheekbones just as pointed and pointed. Her eyes are severe, almost golden, especially when they get caught in the light. They are pulled in a way that makes me think of the cat, with small ears that constantly seem to be pricked. She is young, 19. Her features are hard to pull away from; she is beautiful and terrible all at the same time. She throws her glance at Brutus, smirking in his direction, like they have their own sort of unspoken language. I turn back around.

"And the courageous man to represent District 2 in the 48th Hunger Games is-!" Cillian says this all like it is one sentence, pausing along the way for suspense. I clench my fists, feeling blood being produced under my fingernails once again. I hear a sort of laugh from behind me, and I sense Brutus.

The escort unfolds the paper and my heart hammers in my chest, slamming against my ribs. Why should I care who I am up against? I am supposed to believe that I can do anything. I can beat anyone. I tell myself that it doesn't matter. I am a Career, I am not supposed to be scared, I am supposed to be excited. Excited to kill children. A shiver runs through my entire body.

"Marcus Lancast!" he cries into the crowd. There is not time to see who Marcus Lancast is, someone is sure to volunteer.

And I am right. Almost as soon as the name leaves Cillian MacDonald's lips, there is a shout from the crowd.

"I volunteer!"

The breath leaves my lungs, and my heart stops. I gasp, breathing hard, watching the boy make his way to the stage. All I can do is gape, watching him walk up the steps to stand next to me. I finally swivel my eyes over to look at him, my breath caught in my mouth.

"What's your name, young man?" Cillian cries merrily, holding the microphone under his chin. "Tell the world who you are, you brave, brave soul!"

The boy clears his throat. "Vander Radke."


	3. Three: The Alliance

Chapter Three

I am frozen with shock as soon as my brother speaks his name, paralyzed like I am one of the statues in the town square. It is like I am a dream, watching the crowd around me stand silently like a still photograph, the presence of Vander beside me, my heart hammering against my rib cage.

And then something floods through my body, something hot and bright, something that clouds my vision red. Anger.

And then, on live television, I lunge for my brother's throat.

I am busy clawing at his windpipe when there are hands grabbing ahold of my body, pulling me off of Vander before I can crush his throat in or claw his eyes out with my fingernails. Cillian seems to be screaming like a complete idiot, like I am ripping his head off or something, and the peacekeepers are grunting trying to hold my strong, powerful body.

"Alright, let's give it up for our District 2 tributes, Irina and Vander Radke!" a shaken CIllian tries his best to wrap up the Reapings, flashing his shining smile to the cameras one more time. It doesn't matter; the Capitol filmers are more interested in me, thrashing against two peacekeepers and attempting to throw myself at my brother again. This is _not how this is supposed to happen_. It will be one of us. One of us will die, and it _can't be Vander_.

I get more than needed close-ups on my face as I am hauled away into the Justice Building, leaving a bloody-faced, stunned-looking Vander to be lead in a different direction. I wonder if it was illegal to open those scratches on his cheeks, across his right eyelid.

The mob of angry peacekeepers dumps me in a well-polished, clean looking room, slamming the door. I grab the handle as soon as it is closed, clenching it hard in my hand and wrenching it back and forth, trying to bash the door in. Just as I am considering kicking it in with one of my power kicks, it swings open, nearly throwing me backwards.

My father stands in front of me, my mother at his elbow, looking timid. His eyes are dark, as usual, like smoldering coal embers, and his wife at his side is looking indifferent. There's a possibility she has no idea what is going on, that both of her children have just volunteered to fight against each other in the Arena.

"Well, say something." I demand, crossing my arms. Vander's blood is under my fingernails, and I can smell it, the rust and salt scent.

"Nothing to say, Irina." My father speaks first, the toe of his black boot tapping on the polished hard wood floor. "I can't control your brother."

"But you can control me, right?" I stick my tongue on the side of my cheek, annoyed. It's no secret that Vander is my father's favorite. I used to be favored by our mother, but I'm not so sure about that anymore. She doesn't know who I am half the time, why would she even realize all the things I do for her each day?

"Irina, don't be cocky." He scolds.

"I _will_ by cocky! I just volunteered for you to fight to the death against my brother, your _son_, I've been training for 10 years, and you're scolding me for my _attitude_?" I throw my hands up, angry and upset at him, at Vander, at my mother for not caring.

"Irina?" she speaks for the first time I've heard her voice all day.

"What, Mom?" I sigh, sinking onto my left leg, shifting my weight. Letting myself relax, I tug on the stiff fabric of my too-small blouse.

"I don't want you to leave." Her soft, baby-blue eyes are watering, and I know deep down that she understands. I take a step forward and wrap her in my arms. She is a quaint woman, only a small bit above 5 feet. Vander inherited her curly blond hair, though hers is longer, past her shoulders, and pulled back into a messy braid today. She has a soft face and was once someone who was probably easy to love. She has a round chin, like she never quite lost her child-like looks, and her eyes are ones that make you melt. It's nearly impossible to be angry with her once you see how helpless she is.

"I promise, Vander will be back." I whisper, hoping she registers the part of my sentence about Vander and not the fact that I am not mentioned in the return trip. "He'll take care of you."

"I want you to take care of me." She is sniffling and whimpering now, like a small child, and I rub her back. My father is staring at me as I rest my head over his wife's shoulder, his eyes brooding and forceful. I look away from him and focus on the intertwined fabric of my mother's blouse. I remember specifically laying this shirt out for her this morning, picking it because it was her favorite.

"I know." I whisper, kissing her shoulder. She is quivering, and I know she hardly understands. All she registers is the fact that I am leaving home and I may not come back. I pull away from her, wiping her tears like I am the mother and she is the child that needs comforting. I do not shed a single tear. All I do is turn to my father.

"Mom, why don't you sit on the couch." I offer, motioning to the velvety couch a few feet away from us. She does so and wipes her eyes with the hem of her skirt.

"You know what you have to do Irina." My Father glares at me, his forehead ridden with creases he always gets when he is concentrating and trying to read me. I am better at composing my face than he gives me credit for. I get that skill from him.

"Win." I whisper, not able to propel my voice. "But I can't."

"Irina." He sighs like he is finally giving up. I know he is just pretending, like a mask you wear. He never gives up. "Vander is very – protective of you. I should've expected."

"Damn right, you should have." I comment moodily under my breath, just loud enough for the two of us to her it.

"But he isn't as skilled as you. He can murder, yes, just as skillfully as you can, but he's not strategic-" he trails off, losing his train of thought. "Do you understand what I'm saying, Irina?"

"No." I reply dryly.

"You must kill your brother."

My hands tighten into fists once again and I hear my knuckles pop when I do so.

"No." I reply like it is the easiest answer I have ever come up with. In fact, it is. I will not kill my own flesh and blood, let alone my only brother and boy who has protected me for so many years, been more than our father ever has been to both of us.

"Please, just do what I say, just once." He pleads. He suddenly looks older to me. Maybe it is the lighting or possibly just the dark shadow across his chin of unshaved, day-old scruff that gives him age. But he definitely looks older than his 42 years. He has dark shadows under his eyes, purplish looking, giving me the impression he hasn't been sleeping. His black hair is in an untidy heap, and it is turning gray at the crown. He slumps when he stands.

"I won't kill my own brother." I state without moving my eyes from his, locking our gaze.

"One of you is coming home, it is going to be you…" he pauses, "or him."

"Him, then." I decide, staring him down with all my might. Vander deserves more than I do, he is good looking, soft hearted, great with a sword. He could have kids someday; he could have a family, a nice wife and a child or two running around in the yard. He could be happy, whereas my sullen personality and general hostile presence gets me no scores among the men, and my sharp chin can't compete with the flirtatious, outgoing girls at school.

"I'd rather it be you." He tells me. My eyelids flick open wider, caught by surprise. My father has never shown much liking towards me, he always had his heart set on Vander. My mother hated having him outcast me, but I knew only one member of the family could be favored at a time. Careers are hard to train. Soon it was realized Vander was too soft for killing without feeling, maybe it was best to train the little girl he hardly knew into a malicious killing machine.

"Why?" I ask out of curiosity.

"Because you've got a lot of fight in you, Irina." He puts his hands on my shoulders, like a proud father should do. I shrug him off.

"If I go along with your – deal…" I plot out loud. Inside, the wheels in my brain are clicking and chinking, not truly taking him up on his offer. "I have my own compromises."

My father sighs. "What's that, Irina?"

"Take care of her." I flick my head over to my mother, his wife, and then back to him. "Do everything for her that I do. You have to do her laundry, make sure she eats, keep her from breaking things-" I continue to babble through the long list of tasks it takes to keep my mother from spiraling down into a pit of utter despair.

"Fine, Irina, I got it." He nods his head once, like he is annoyed I am asking him to care for his own wife.

"It doesn't seem to me you're taking any notes."

"She'll be fine." He tells me. "If you keep my promise, I'll keep yours."

I nod once; trying to duplicate the hidden features he is so great as masking. I am sure I just look like I am straining my face.

"Yes. I promise." I cross my fingers behind my back. "I guess this is goodbye, then."

"Goodbye for now." He corrects.

"Goodbye." I turn away from him to help my mother up. "You're going to see Vander now, Mom. I love you."

"Irina, I love you too." She smiles warmly. She obviously recognizes the name of her son. "Oh, I know who that is. He's my son."

I hand her off to my father, giving him the evil eye. His black eyes are still cold as he leaves the room, holding onto my mother's elbow, as the both of them are escorted away to say goodbye to their son. I am left alone until another peacekeeper arrives to take me to the train bound for the Capitol. No one else came to visit me, there are no emotional bonds with anyone else to me in this world.

Cillian is chattering as we drive to the station in a fancy Capitol car. I've been in an automobile before, just not one this fancy. I look stony-face out the window at the cheering fans, knowing that both Vander and I have a good chance of making it home to be their new, fresh hero.

The Capitol train is exquisite, I observe. Laden with table upon table of goodies in the car Cillian sits us down in. I look out the window away from Vander, who has little bits of medical tape stuck to his cheeks where I cat scratched him. I feel bad, but only a little bit. I am more satisfied with myself than anything.

"Help yourself to any snack you'd like!" Cillian exclaims in his bouncy Capitol accent, flashing that bright smile of his once again. "But don't fill up your bellies too much, lunch is served at 12 noon!"

Vander comments politely and I stare out the window. Cillian continues his chattering.

"I'm off to find your mentors, but make yourself at home!" he bounds off through a sliding door, and my mid drifts to Brutus and his spiteful smirk.

"Irina, the silent treatment isn't going to work on me." Vander clears his throat from his seat next to me. I turn toward him.

"Then what is?"

He just smiles slightly. His scratches scrunch up when he does, and his hand flashes to his wounds right away like it hurts.

"I'm sorry." I whisper softly, moving my hand up to his cheek gently. "I was acting without thinking."

"It's alright." He promises, leaning back. My hands fall into my lap once again. "Are you alright?"  
"A little worried about Mom."

"Me too."

Awkward silence between the two of us. I pick at one of my ragged fingernails.

"Did Dad come to see you?" I finally ask, looking up again.

"Yes." He nods, his blond curls bouncing.

"I hate Dad." I slump back in my chair, frowning.

"So do I. I don't want to fight for him."

"I don't want to fight for anyone."

He takes my hand, holding it in his like he used to do when we were little. He always seemed so much more older to me than the year and a half that he was.

"Then we fight together, sister. As a team."


	4. Four: The Blade

Chapter Four

Vander and I are sitting quietly when the sliding compartment door opens once again. Cillian enters, followed by a row of people, varying in age and size. I count six of them behind him, two men and four women. I recognize the two youngest, Brutus and Lyme. His dark eyes are hiding beneath his equally dark eyebrows, but he is smiling, I can tell. He stands possibly an inch or so taller than Lyme, but it is a close call, she is tall for a woman.

"Ah, here they are. Irina, Vander, I assume you know your mentors." Cillian sort of bows to the row of 6 and then sinks into a chair.

"Some of them." I shrug, peeking out from under my long, dark bangs. My forehead is slick with sweat, nervous perspiration. I quickly peek up at Brutus, who is leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his muscled chest.

"Ah, yes, then." He jumps up once more, and his cape nearly hits an older man with a shaved head. He looks around 60 years old, probably older, the oldest one here. Cillian motions to him first. "This is Reed Prichett. He doesn't talk much." He nods at him, then turns his attention to the woman next to him, a sour-faced woman with short hair in the back and long in the front. She looks maybe in her early fifties. "Edda, this is Edda."

"Hello." I mumble under my breath, and Vander says his hellos to the two oldest District 2 victors.

"Ah, and our lovebirds, Nelson and Lila." He motions to a muscular man who is much to masculine to be named Nelson, and an equally muscular girl under his arm that is draped around her shoulders. Despite their size, they look fairly nice, especially Lila. She wears a soft smile on her small lips, and her red hair is swung over her shoulder in a side braid.

"Brutus and Lyme." He motions to the two victors I am most familiar with, leaning and smirking against the wall like they own the place. I scowl at them, Brutus especially, and look away, into my lap.

"I'm familiar." I tell him.

"They're here to help you work out strategies – how to survive in the Arena." Cillian stretches out in his chair. "Would you like to be trained together or alone?"

"Um, he's my brother." I look to Vander and roll my eyes. How thick can you get? Apparently as thick as Cillian.

"I didn't know if that was part of your strategy." He taps his fingernails on the edge of a side table. I notice that he has claw-like nails trimmed into sharp triangles, so intensely pointed that he could probably open deeper scratches onto someone's face than I did to my brother.

Vander speaks up, thankfully, so I don't have to. "My sister and I weren't – intending for this to happen, Mr. MacDonald."

"You volunteered to protect her, then?" There is a rich, velvety voice from across the room and my eyes flash up. Brutus looks uncomfortable with all the eyes on him, and his eyes travel downward with embarrassment. His lashes once again conceal his dark irises, and he is smoldering again.

"Our father, he made her volunteer…" Vander continues for a moment and then finally realizes what he is saying. "Wait, why am I telling you this? I don't even know you."

"You'll want to know me." He says quietly, like he is sharing a secret with only the two of us. "I'm going to be keeping you alive over the next few weeks." His coal black eyes flash to me, probably remembering the stunt I pulled, lunging at Vander earlier today. I grin internally, glowing with happiness. Some part of me enjoys stressing Brutus.

"You're trained, right?" Lila asks, slinking out from under Nelson's arm. She has a lot of freckles on her cheeks, and I am guessing she has them peppering her shoulders and dotting her back. As is we wouldn't be trained if we were volunteered. She seems like a sort of a ditz.

"No, I volunteered to sacrifice myself on live television because my lifetime crush turned me down when I asked him if he liked me." I smirk, though she seems stupid enough to actually believe me.

Vander cracks up. "You have a crush, Rina?"

I smack him on the shoulder. "Let's get this out there quickly. I'm good with knives. He needs a sword to get anywhere."

Brutus slips a knife from almost out of nowhere, and I find myself wondering if he kept it in his belt all this time without anyone noticing. A shiver runs through my body and Lyme grins.

"Relax, Radke." Reed smirks, and I notice he has crow's feet at the edges of his severe brown eyes. This is probably the gentlest part of his face. He must have noticed that I stiffened. I try my best to make my shoulders untighten, and Vander sees me struggling.

"Show me." Brutus seems to challenge me with only his eyes, taunting me, pushing me. I rise from my chair, reaching out for the knife. He takes a few steps closer to me and slips the handle of it into my palm. It is smooth, some sort of special leather, and sleek. Any other time, I would've taken some time to admire it, stroke me hand over it to feel the worn leather, but there are 8 pairs of eyes on me right now. I look from the cruel-tipped knife blade up to Brutus. His face is expectant.

"What should I throw it at?" I ask him. For some reason, I want to hear his voice again, that soft russet sound that is like velvet, or rugged like the leather on the handle of his knife.

"How about at him?" He turns his gaze to my brother, his face serious. The both of us, Vander and I, stare back at him, mortified.

Suddenly, his face breaks out in a terribly wicked smile, the crooked grin stretching ear-to-ear. I feel how tense my body is, my shoulders are locked, and my breathing is harsh, nostrils flaring.

"I'm joking." If possible, his smile widens, and my grip tightens on the handle of his knife.

"How about I throw it at you?"

Edda, the oldest woman laughs, and Reed smirks like he is attempting to contain his chortles. Lyme crosses her arms, looking angry at me for claiming the attention from Brutus. I get the aura that she sort of likes him, though from what I have seen, it seems that he is just toying with her. Keeping her at arm's length.

"Tempting, but no." He takes a muffin, lemon poppy seed  
by my guess, from a glass bowl on a table overridden with sweets. "Can I trust you, Irina?"

What a question to ask when you've just met a person. I look to Vander, who is still slumped in one of the chairs, and he shrugs. He seems to trust him enough, so I decide to as well.

"Yes." My voice is shaking. His eyes torment me, boring into me like he is trying to read my soul. I suddenly feel like he can, like he can see the feelings I have had for my father, hatred, and for my mother, love, but especially longing. Longing to be free of her…

"Brutus, don't torment the girl." Nelson scolds, and he has a surprisingly light, airy voice. He seems more quiet and reserved than his wife, I notice they each have an expensive wedding band on their left ring finger. Lila's ring is a band of expensive stones, the specialty of District 2.

"You know I like to toy with my victims." His glowing voice replies back.

"Oh please, stop being so vague." Reed throws a knowing glance at Edda who looks equally annoyed. "You're scaring her."

"No he's not." I interject.

"You're boring me, Brutus." Lyme rolls her eyes in annoyance.

"Let me see something first." He scowls at her, and she rushes to fix it. Satisfying Brutus seems to be a full-time job for her. "Irina, prove to me you have enough training to be worth my time."

"Worth your time." Piffs Cillian, groaning like he is sick of Brutus. I don't know how he could be tired of such a beautiful face, I have never seen someone's smile so taunting, so beautiful.

Brutus places the muffin on top of his head, standing a few feet away from the wall. My eyebrows knit together, questioning his sanity. Lyme looks at him like he is crazy, which is probably true.

"Alright." He holds still so the muffin doesn't fall from the top of his head. "Let's see you hit the muffin. Not me, mind you, Irina."

I scowl, but everyone else has a different reaction. Reed and Edda groan, and he leads her through the compartment door, away from the room, annoyed. Lila claps her hands and Nelson puts his head in his hands and rubs his temples. Lyme throws her hands up and leaves behind Reed and Edda.

"Go on." Brutus taunts, like he truly believes that I can't do it. "Our audience is mostly gone now, no pressure."

Adrenaline leaps inside of me, and I feel my pulse quicken. Vander watches from his seat, amused, and Cillian acts like he is slightly bored. I know he isn't, he is wondering if I can do it, too. I know I can.

"I might miss." I keep my voice steady so he can't tell I am faking it. "It's happened before. I wonder how good your face would look with a knife sticking from your throat."

He laughs in one dark chortle. "I've survived lots of things, Irina, I can do anything now."

His voice strikes me somewhere hard. 'I can do anything.' I begin to doubt myself. His voice rings in my head. 'I can do anything. I can do anything.'

"I can do anything." I speak aloud. I close my eyes and breathe in deeply. Let my breath out through my mouth in one swift breath.

I hear Vander suck in his breath as I throw my knife. It seems like it is in slow motion as it glides through the air like it is slicing it in half. The polished blade catches the light for hardly a millisecond when I see it and sinks itself in the muffin. Crumbs fly everywhere, in Brutus' hair and all over the floor around him, and the knife is lodged in the wall behind him, exactly lined up where the muffin had been.

Brutus looks behind him at his knife blade stuck in a clean line in the wall. He laughs in one short bark and strides over to yank his knife out. He fingers it for a moment, laughing to himself.

"Well then." He flips the knife over in his hand, running his finger alone the glint of the blade. He suddenly strides over to me, his long legs carrying him quickly, and grabs one of my hands from my side in a fluid motion. I see Vander tighten out of the corner of my eye, ready to protect me, but my eyes then lock with his. He slips the handle of the knife into my hand, his face serious. "I don't deserve to own this anymore."

**Sorry only a little bit happened in this chapter, but I wanted to introduce Brutus as a stronger character a little more. :D I just had the image of this scene in my mind and I wanted to put it in. I hope you enjoy and please review! 3 **

** ~RainbowTeeth8**


	5. Five: The Capitol

**Okay, I apparently forgot to do this in the first chapter, so I am adding it now. Better late than never! I do not own the Hunger Games and any character I write about created by Suzanne Collins. Please read and review! I really need to know if people like my story, and thanks to those of you who have read and reviewed so far! Love you guys! Xoxo**

** ~RainbowTeeth8**

Chapter Five

"Is that it?" I stare out the window at the rising buildings nestled in the mountains passing by us, awaiting each new image as the train passes through tunnels. I have always known I would be going to the Capitol someday, but it is more breath-taking than I would have ever expected. Shimmering, amazing buildings, rising higher than imaginable. I shudder with the hugeness of the city.

"It's awesome, isn't it?" Vander flashes his white grin. He is sitting next to me, in my bedroom compartment. We have been traveling overnight, and we are finally arriving to the shining, beautiful Capitol where the Hunger Games will take place.

"Yes." I agree. I wonder how long it will be until the other District's tributes start arriving. District 2 is fairly close to the Capitol, we are arriving quite early, but some of the others are farther away. "I've never seen anything like it."

"I thought the same thing when I first saw it." I hear a voice behind me, and I turn around to face Lila, one of my mentors. "I was so distracted, it was so shiny."

I mentally roll my eyes. The woman is attracted to shiny things, I'm surprised she hasn't glued her eyeballs to her over-extensive wedding ring that is basically all diamond.

"Are any of the other District's here?" I ask her, standing up from the chair I am seated in.

She twirls a strand of her curled hair around her finger. "I think One is here, maybe Four. We're here fairly early, it looks as if we'll be staying in the remake center a night or so while we wait for the other tributes."

A shiver runs through my body as I think of the other tributes. We have seen them, watching the Reapings televised in the other districts. Most in the weak districts are not a threat. But there are some I respect. Both of the District 1 tributes are definitely part of this year's Career pack, just as Vander and I are, and District 4's own boy and girl are nothing to spit at. There are a few others I've taken note of, but their names have escaped me.

"Where are our other mentors?" Vander turns to Lila as the train passes through another set of tunnels. Our faces are flushed in darkness, casting eerie shadows across the room.

"The main car, I suppose." She seats herself on the edge of my well-made bed. "I'm not too good at this mentoring stuff, in case you didn't notice."

I noticed.

"Yes you are." I placate her. If she likes me, she will more likely help me when it comes down to it.

"I remember sitting where you sat." She smiles, reminiscing. "I was a volunteer, just as you two were."

I wonder what made her parents think she was applicable to volunteer. She's air-headed, it's hard to believe she won the came out of anything but luck.

"How did you win?" I ask her, staring out the window again as we travel deeper into the mountains. I'm fairly sure Vander is wondering the same thing, too, how was she smart enough to become Victor of the Hunger Games?

"Oh, the way almost all tributes win." She smiles gently, her freckles popping out on her face. "Killing people."

I can see she is going to be of no help.

We go through another dark tunnel in silence, Vander and I waiting for the bright flash of light that is the train station. We suddenly burst through the tube of the mountain, and there are a million different colors that meet my eyes. At first, I think it is a churning sea of different brightly colored hues, but I realize I am wrong. It is a mass of people, Capitol citizens, all surrounding the train, awaiting out arrival. I hear our names called in the jumpy Capitol accent, and there are guards pushing the screaming throng of people away from the train.

"You've become quite popular in the Capitol I suppose." Lila stands behind us now. "The brother and sister angle is working for you two, they're eating it all up. And that stunt you pulled, trying to kill your brother…" She stops mid-sentence, which I've found she does quite often. "If I could tell you anything, I'd tell you to play up the brother and sister card."

Maybe Lila isn't as stupid after all. Besides all the obvious things.

"Vander, hold my hand." I tell my brother, who is smiling his flashy grin to the Capitol people who are calling our names. He looks away from them, his light eyes questioning, but slips his strong, large hand into mine. I can feel the callouses on his palm from handling a sword so often.

"Hi!" I wave to the Capitol people, holding our linked hands up in the air, signifying that we are the brother and sister pair. They scream and yell and push forward, closer to the train. Vander catches on and squeezes my hand, waving our linked fingers around. We are brother and sister, the unbreakable. Nothing will stop us. We fight united.

We stay overnight in the Remake Center, as Lila said. It is will we will be remade, as the name says, polished until we are perfected. Both Vander and I will have a stylist who will prepare us for the tribute parade, a chariot ride through the town square to see who gets the most attention. District 2, being a Career district, often receives most of the popularity, and sponsors.

"The Capitol seems to like you." Reed makes a comment while we are eating dinner.

"Yes, especially since you pulled that hand holding stunt." Edda turns to me, winking. I look down into my mashed potatoes and poke my roll with a fork. "It was nothing."

"Nothing. Just like you nearly shaved Brutus' head off the other night." Lyme says coldly to her dinner plate. I can tell she doesn't like me, there is a strong presence of despise when she is around me.

"How would you know, Lyme?" Brutus looks at me and then looks at her. "You left before you could even see it happen."

"Excuse me." She glares at him icily, and then pushes her chair out from the table, stalking off. Brutus cruelly grins.

"I haven't given much thought to it." Edda takes a bite of her peas. "But the two of you are allying to become part of the pack, aren't you?"

I look to Vander and he shrugs. I nod to Edda. "I suppose so."

"Make sure you show your knife skills, but not to a full display of it all. I don't want them to consider you as too much of a threat." Reed nods to me. "The same with you with the sword, Vander."

"They'll have to be careful, or I might have to get swingy." My brother smiles, and I watch Brutus flings a crumb at Nelson. He tightens his grip around his fork, looking about ready to throw it at him.

We eat in silence the rest of the meal, and after that, I go to my room, a small little compartment that is just temporary housing for now. I flip through the channels on the television they have provided me, and it seems that in honor of the upcoming Hunger Games, they are playing reruns of old Games. I decide to study their methods, what I used to do in my infrequent spare time, and fall asleep watching a woman named Cecelia slaughter a young boy.

I wake to whispering in Capitol accents, high and jumpy, and not trying their best to let me sleep. I squint open my eyes, blinking a few times and almost immediately cringe at the bright colors.

"Oh, I'm sorry we woke you, dear. We were just deciding on how to wake you." A woman with gold and silver striped hair in multiple braids twisted up on top of her head. She is dressed in the same blinding, flashing colors.

"It's alright… who are you?" I ask her, sitting up in bed. I still have my boots on from yesterday, laced up tightly, and my feet are asleep.

"We're your prep team. We'll be preparing you to be introduced to Panem." The same woman talks, helping me sit up a little bit more. There is only one other person with her, a man who looks much younger with purple eyelashes and the same shade of lipstick. "My name is Spero. This is Kade."

"Aren't prep teams a bit bigger than – you two?" I ask her.

"Usually." She smiles kindly, motioning to Kade. "He is my brother. Don't mind him, he doesn't talk."

"Oh." I mumble. "Hello." Kade nods to me silently.

"I hate to wake you up so early, but we were instructed to prepare you for the parade." Spero tells me in her kind, motherly voice. I sit up for her and climb into a green velvet chair she has prepared for me. Kade gets to work, brushing my hair that was braided for the night. He washes it with a little sprayer and tub, rinsing the colored shampoo away down the drain. He brushes my hair while his sister waxes my legs. I don't need too much work, actually, and Spero constantly compliments me on it. She doesn't mention my chin.

"It is rare we get someone so beautiful." She tells me while I soak in a steaming bath. I look at her in confusion, nobody has ever told me I am beautiful before. "Isn't that right, brother?"

Kade nods.

"Last year we had the boy tribute. Brutus." I hear the edge to her voice. "Stubborn young man. Neither of us liked him much."

"He isn't exactly the most – pleasant to be around." I smile to myself. I shot a muffin off the top of his head using a knife."

The both of them laugh. Kade has a pleasant sort of laugh, like he is trying to hide it using a cough. I smile at him and his cheeks flush with red. It is easy to like both Spero and Kade, they are quiet and so unlike any Capitol citizen that I have met so far.

And then I meet my stylist and like him a million times more.

"I'm Ro." He shakes my hand when I first get a glimpse of him. He is interesting to look at, with bright, fiery hair that looks like licking flames. His lips are colored deep red, and his eyebrows are fluffy, looking like fire.

"Irina." I whisper, shocked in his presence.

"Beautiful." He grins, and I notice how straight his teeth are, probably something they do so well in the Capitol. "Thank you, Spero, Kade. You may leave."

The both of them bow and leave the room silently.

"That was very brave of your brother. And brave of you to volunteer." He puts his finger under my chin and tilts my face up. I try to keep eye contact with him, he is very hard to look away from. "I have the highest respects for both of you."

"Join the club." I mumble. His dark, reddish eyes question me.

"Are you not having a good time in your stay in the Capitol?"

"It's not that. I'm just –" I wonder why I am telling him this. "My father wants me to come home. But now I truly don't know if I will be returning."

He sets his large hands on either of my shoulders and looks into my eyes. "You are a gem, Irina Radke. It's my job to make _everyone_ see that. Including your father."

**Ok, I know that this chapter isn't really anything happening, but the next one will be better! Please review no matter how bad it is! I promise that Chapter Six will be even better! **

** Love, **

** RainbowTeeth8**


	6. Six: The Parade

**Hey, it's Rainbow! Here's the new chapter, hope you enjoy! I know the stuff before the Arena is sort of boring, but what has to be done has to be done. Please review, good or bad, and I will do my best to post new chapters! **

** ~RainbowTeeth8**

Chapter Six

"Well, don't _you_ look dashing." A voice comes from above me, a hand slipping down across the horse's neck. I look up from the animal's snout that I was lightly stroking, and meet his Vander's glassy irises. It's strange to look into his strange glassy eyes, concealed by contacts. His stylist and mine, Ro, have created hand-painted, absolutely beautiful colored eye-concealers, mine completely covering my iris and pupil with ruby shapes that glow out of my eye sockets. Vander's are gentler, a sweet blue in a sapphire shape, and he stares at me with his blindingly bright gem stones. Ro was right, we _are_ gems.

"Dashing as in running away." I smirk, leaning against white horse that is nervously pawing the ground with its hoof. I stroke my fingers through his manicured mane, and he nuzzles my hand.

"You look great." He jumps down from the chariot and takes a look at my long, red dress. It is studded with blue gems, intricately woven into the silky fabric, and I notice with a pang that Vander's suit made of the fabric is the complete opposite. It is a deep midnight blue and shines in the lights of the stadium, and is woven with just the right amount of rubies. He is beautiful, he looks like our mother.

"I'm wearing red contacts. Isn't that supposed to mean I'm evil?"

Vander laughs and it sounds like a hundred bells tinkling. Why does he have to be so perfect? How is it that my mother passed all of her genes on to him, and I am my father all the way? I feel my chin to check to see if it is still pointed. It is.

"Hardly. Maybe it symbolizes blood lust?"

I shudder. "Maybe."

We are quiet for a moment.

"Check out the others." Vander nudges me in the ribs without looking at me. "District 1."

I let my eyes slip stealthily over to the chariot before ours, and my sight lands on two children, or rather adults. Careers if I have ever seen them in the strongest of ways.

The girl is strongly built, like me, but she is probably a good foot or so taller than my 5 foot three. (I am small for my strength.) She is broad-shouldered, made like Lyme, and she has mouse-brown hair to her shoulders. Her eyes are close together, like she is constantly trying to look at her too-big-for-her-face nose, and her bottom lip is too big for her miniscule top one. Her name seems to have escaped me, and now I know why. Her face is one you _want_ to forget.

Her district partner is next to her, idly chatting without looking her in the squinty eyes. If there is such thing as complete opposites, these two are it. He has the whitest of blond hair, a beautiful sun ray of a color with little flecks of light brown. It is cut short, but not shaved, and his bangs meet right above his eyebrows. He has a slightly turned up nose and wide eyes, like he is surveying the area with them. I can't see from here what color they are, but I would bet they are a tinted green or hazel. Their stylists have draped them in peacock feathers, signifying their district produces luxury goods. Each of them has a huge, blown up peacock crowns and fluffed up circle of feathers on their back. The girl looks ridiculous, but somehow the boy pulls off the strange look.

"Do you remember either of their names?" I turn to him and then take one more peek back at the peacocks.

"Not the girl's. But I think the boy is Edwin or something with an Ed." He shrugs and turns to peek around his shoulder. "Rina, I think someone's watching us."

"What?" I turn around and look out over all the other tributes behind us. "I don't see anyone."

"District 4." He says without looking at me.

I let my eyes swivel to the chariot that is several feet behind us, behind the District 3 tributes. I lock eyes almost immediately with the girl, a girl with auburn hair and pale skin. Her eyes are lowered, but I can tell she is glaring at the two of us. Her name comes to me suddenly, Iris.

"What's her problem, do you think?" I ask Vander, and he shrugs.

"Maybe my beauty is just so stunning, he can't help looking away."

I smirk and slap his arm lightly. I am nervous enough already, why must these tributes give me more stress?

Suddenly, the Capitol Anthem is blaring through speakers all around us and in the stadium. My body surges with unwanted adrenaline as I watch Vander climb up into the chariot and offer me his hand. He stands there, waiting with his hand held out towards me, but I keep my feet planted into the ground.

"Irina, come on." He says, motioning for me to climb into the chariot. The two horses hooked to our little cart whinny and paw at the ground impatiently.

"I don't want to." My voice comes out weak. There is cheering and chanting from the stadium, and I suddenly don't want them to see me.

"Irina." His blue eyes are patient but I can tell that will only last for so long. I sigh and take his hand and he pulls me into the blue and red chariot. My knees are shaking for some reason, which is uncharacteristic because I rarely get nervous.

"I'm shaking." I whisper to myself, but somehow he still hears me. "Vander…"

His hand slips into mine, and he cups the side of my face in his free hand. I feel eyes boring into us, possibly trying to burn through our skulls. I just keep my eyes locked with Vander's, and he keeps me calm. His soft fingers slip down to feel my pulse, how I remember he did it when we were young. I was 11 and he was 12. Our father hit me…

I push the thoughts out of my mind. Vander leans in and kisses my forehead in a brotherly way, and it is more comforting than anything our parents have ever done for me. I pull away but keep on holding his hand.

"It'll be fine." He whispers to me as the chariot lurches forward after the District 1 tributes.

The stadium is jam packed with Capitol citizens cheering and crying out names and districts. There are flashes of bright colors, and I feel dizzy. Vander holds on to me to keep me steady, making sure I don't topple over in the midst of all of this.

There is a mob of people crying my name and beating their chests. A bouquet of roses flies my way and I catch a few flowers.

"Ouch!" I cry, pricking myself on one of the thorns. Vander looks away from his smiling and waving to look down at my finger. A trickle of blood flows down my thumb, and I wipe it on my silky dress. Vander laughs and waves with his free hand.

"How am I doing?" I call excitedly over the roar of the deafening crowd.

"Great, I think!" he calls back, laughing and waving our linked fingers together. The crowd oos and ahhs, probably looking through their pamphlets. I remember vaguely my mentors telling us to play up the brother and sister act to get more sponsors. (Sponsors are people who send in money to buy things to get sent to you in the Arena.) I throw my arm around Vander and act like he is my favorite person in the world.

We are quite popular with the crowd, thanks to Ro and Vander's stylist, and we are showered with flowers of every kind and color. I catch a few of them and make myself a bouquet. Vander puts one in his mouth and winks at me and I grin and laugh.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I give you: THE TRIBUTES OF THE 52ND HUNGER GAMES!" I hear our Hunger Games announcer, Claudius Templesmith's voice come through the speakers, and there is the final name calling and wild cheering. I bow and smile and wave, all without letting go of Vander's hand. He is the one who grounds me.

Our chariots roll one by one out of the stadium, the horses gracefully swinging their heads and pawing the ground with their polished and painted hooves. I wave and grin some more, flashing my glowing red eyes at the Capitol citizens for one last time before we lurch forward the last time.

Ro meets us as soon as our chariots come to a halting stop, cheering, his red hair looking like a flame in the air. My hand slips from my brother's as he takes my waist and swings me down from the cart, spinning me around and around. I laugh like a manic, hiccupping when he sets me down. I fall backwards into Brutus who pushes me back up onto my feet.

"Up you go, crow head." He smirks his cruel smile, and I stumble again in my red heels from dizziness. I smile back gratefully, too pre-occupied to mind his death stares and brooding eyebrows.

"Dear God, Ro, you made the girl look like a damn _devil_!" Edda comes strolling in behind them, followed by the rest of my non-present mentors. She is shaking her finger at Ro and looking at me disapprovingly.

I look down at my dress. I haven't taken much consideration about my costume; I thought both Vander and I were beautiful. The flowing red dress studded with diamonds cut in jagged, precise lines, the pointed tipped heels and the red contacts in the shape of an emerald cut ruby. Maybe I _do _look like a devil.

"She does _not_." Vander comes to my rescue defensively. "The next thing you're going to be saying is I look like an angel!"

Actually, I've always thought Vander looks like an angel. With his clear blue eyes and hair curled in ringlets hanging very blond on his head. He is so muscular and beautiful and perfect, it is hard not to imagine him with wings.

"Well." Reed sticks his nose up. "She's no prize."

Vander's fists tighten. It's not like I can't beat Reed up if I felt like it, I could. It just feels good to have someone watching out for me. I rest my palm over his clenched fist, sliding my fingers over his wrist.

"I don't mind. Ro, the dress is beautiful." I defend my wonderful stylist. He winks at me and makes a twirling motion with his finger around his ear, motioning to Reed. I stifle a laugh and hide my face in my arm, attempting to make it look like a cough.

"Irina." I hear a quaint voice behind me. Lila is at my shoulder, whispering in my ear. "Don't look now, but some of the other tributes have their eyes on you."

I turn around slowly. The girl from one, who I have decided to nickname Mouse, is leaning against her chariot, her top lip pulled into a snarl. Edwin, if that is his name, is with her, fluffing his peacock feathers with his fingers. They both look at me with hatred, something I have never seen reflected in someone's eyes intended for me before. I look away shyly, embarrassed to even be observing.

I let my eyes slide carefully over to the District 4 girl, Iris. She is looking right back at me, arms crossed over the fishnets draped around her body, (District 4 is the fishing district.) I may look like the devil, but to me, she comes across as one. She is so much like a snake, thin and slender, with a small nose that is like two mere slits, I can't help imaging her with the body of the dangerous reptile.

"She makes me nervous." I whisper to Vander.

"Don't look at her. Her eyes with burn right through your skin." He jokes. Why doesn't he feel uneasy about her? Maybe I am just letting my nerves get to me, Iris is small, more my size, but she isn't as muscular as me; I feel I would be able to take her in a fight. She doesn't seem to me like Career material, possibly I can finish her off the first day if I am so concerned about her.

"You two looked great tonight." Nelson speaks up after taking Lila under his arm like a bird taking its young under its wing. "Training tomorrow."

Ah yes. Training. Where I will be showing off my skills and trying to earn myself a spot in the Career pack.

"That's right. You two should get your sleep." Ro winks at me one last time.

** Training in the next chapter! Looking forward to putting it on as soon as possible! **

** 3,**

** RainbowTeeth8**


	7. Seven: The Partnership

**Hey, this is Rainbow! Glad to get past the boring getting-to-the-Capitol parts, and now the next chapters are gonna be a lot more interesting! I hope you like this and review if u have suggestions. Even if you hate it, I can take criticism. So, yeah! Next chapter, wooo!**

** ~Rainbow**

Chapter Seven

In the morning, Kade and Spero wake me early. I feel like I need at least 2 more hours of sleep, but I don't complain. I just sit quietly after my warm shower, (I love the Capitol showers), and let Spero do my hair in a French braid while Kade sorts her multi-colored combs by size.

I head to breakfast down the hall, and Cillian is already there, babbling excitedly about the day. Today, he is dressed in robes of lime green and his fingernails are painted bright yellow. I wonder to myself if he has his own stylist as I take a seat beside Nelson and an empty chair.

"Morning." Nelson mumbles into his pancakes. Lila reaches over and dribbles a trickle of blueberry syrup on his pancakes and then her waffles. He rubs his thick, meaty hand over hers, which is surprisingly gentle for a man his size.

"It's not morning yet." I grumble, staring out the window of the Training Center. This is where the tributes, their mentors, stylists, an escorts are going to be staying until all 24 tributes enter the Arena. We train underground, beneath the building, in a large penthouse. I notice with an angry pang that it is still dark out.

"Have some of this. It ought to wake you up." Edda slips me a mug of steaming liquid. I've had it before, but even my wealthy family couldn't afford it unless it was a special occasion. And also, I don't completely trust Edda, or even Reed. They seem to hate me, though they love my brother.

"I don't drink coffee." I inform her, heaping a generous helping of fried potatoes onto my plate. A server pours me a glass of orange juice instead.

"It's not like I poisoned it." Edda reclaims the glass and makes a rude face at me.

"Sure." I remark, drinking a sip of my caffeine-free, all-out safe orange juice.

"G' morning." Vander finally approaches the table, looking just as tired as me. He is in his training clothes that were laid out for him, like I am. This year, they are gray, slim-tight and fitting, with a "2" on our backs and both of our shoulders. We are matching.

"Not really." I remind him, and myself, how early it is again. I am feeling quite edgy this morning, a little mix of nervousness and anger at most of my mentors. Though I take note that Brutus is nowhere to be found.

Vander reaches over and ruffles my dark hair, and I slap his hand away for messing it up. He chuckles and starts eating his porridge. He has always been a morning person.

"About training." Reed tells us while holding a fork to his mouth with a piece of omelet dripping off of it. He shoves it in his mouth and chews, lengthening the suspense. I wonder myself how he won the Games, maybe from being so annoying.

"What about it?" Vander wipes his chin with the corner of a white napkin. Even sleepy, he looks beautiful, and I, as usual, look hit. Though I must say, Spero has done a good job at making me look presentable.

"I want you to ally. I've been surveying a few of them. District 1 is, as usual, Career material, as are you. I've got my eye on the girl and boy from 4, and the boy from 5 is a possibility." Reed nods to Edda, and then turns to Lila and Nelson. "What do you two think?"

"They're too busy making cutie eyes at each other to care about Irina or Vander." There is a rough-from-sleep voice speaks behind me. Brutus runs his fingers across the back headrest of my chair before sitting down in the empty seat beside me. "Good morning, Irina. Vander." He nods to the both of us and I stare past him dumb-struck.

"Our romance is none of your business." Lila sticks her tongue on the side of her cheek and grimaces in Brutus' direction.

"Apparently it is if the entire building heard you rocking the bed last night." Brutus casually piles a few pieces of toast on his plate and starts to butter them nonchalantly. Like nothing happened. I hide my face in my sleeve and shake with laughter. When I look up, Brutus winks at me. Nelson just looks utterly baffled.

"You people are completely disgusting." Cillian piffs, thinking he is better than all of us, probably. "Irina, Vander, if you're ready, training is starting at 7 o'clock."

"Coming." I rise from my chair, eager to get away from these people, the lovebirds and the annoying older mentors. I notice Lyme is not present. I misewell arrive at training earlier, I want people to get a good look at Vander and I while we're arriving.

"I'm finished as well." Vander rises, too. I feel a hand catch my wrist as we turn to leave, and I look down. Brutus is holding tightly to my wrist.

"Irina, be careful today." His grip tightens and I oddly don't want him to let go.

"Why wouldn't I?" I stare down into his deep eyes and I notice that they aren't black at all, up close. They are a rich, chocolate brown, like churning cocoa, and I feel like I could swim away in them.

"Just – don't do anything stupid." He releases his iron grip. I can hardly pull myself away from him, but I force my gaze to travel over to Vander. He shrugs, a shocked look on his face.

I think of Brutus as Cillian takes us down in the glass elevator to the underground training penthouse. Vander and I are both quiet, though Cill babbles on and on about pointless things. He drops us off as soon as he sees we are in the circle of people slowly gathering around a woman in the center of the training center. He leaves to go up to the viewing room with our mentors, stylists and prep teams.

It seems we are one of the first people here, besides Mouse and Edwin, who are talking circuitously, the farthest away from anyone they can get. They eye us as soon as we enter, and Mouse turns her nose up, especially at me, like I am an ugly warthog. Well, honey, you aren't much of a prize either.

The other tributes here are, if I'm correct, from 3 and 9, the rest haven't arrived yet.

Vander and I stand awkwardly by ourselves, watching the newest tributes arrive. Some of them are small, especially the curly-haired girl from 6 and the small boy who is under 4 feet from 7. Others are quite large, though they look deprived of food. Most of the districts are poor, District 2 is one of the very lucky ones.

As soon as everyone has arrived, the head trainer explains to us how we are to rotate stations and spend as much time there as we would like. She also explains that this is a time for allying, which Vander and I will find most important. Though I know I need to spend a good amount of time at the survival and camouflage station. My survival skills are based mostly on strategy, not on instinct.

"Where would you like to start?" Vander asks me. "I assume you'd like to stay together."

"Yes." I nod. "Misewell start at knife throwing." I know Vander isn't the best as aiming, but he will get his chance at the sword and ax station.

Both of us make our way to the knife throwing station, and I handle the knives with ease. None of them are as special as the knife Brutus gave me, which is safely tucked away in my sock drawer where no one will find it, but I can work with almost anything.

"I assume you're good with knives then, 2." The instructor, broad-shouldered, giant of a man, sneers at me as soon as I pick up my first weapon. I contemplate the temptation of chucking it at him, right at his throat, but instead decide to prove him wrong with my skills. Vander sits back and smirks with amusement.

I pick up five knives, two in one hand, three in the other, and watch as the light up human targets come to life. The idea of this exercise is to throw the knife at the target as soon as it lights up, and I brace myself as the area comes to life.

As soon as the first target lights up, I chuck the first knife at it with as much edge and speed I can put into it. It hits it, dead center, and almost immediately the next target comes to life with a bright red light. I throw my second knife by the blade, and it goes spiraling through the air. Two more targets light up, and I chuck two more cruel-tipped knives, which both hit dead center.

The last target is moving side to side, and I send my last knife hurling right for its moving heart. It hits it, right in the center of the circular heart.

I turn to the instructor, meeting his awed eyes that are wide with shock. Vander is laughing to himself and I grin.

"So, is there anything I can improve on?" I give him my most innocent face and just stands there. I feel eyes on me, and I turn to see Mouse and Edwin gaping at me from the sword fighting station. I wave at them, as if I am beckoning for them to come give it a try.

"We're done here." I smile to my brother. "We can go to the sword fighting station there."

Vander laughs, putting his arm around me, and the both of us travel to the sword combat station. There, the instructor puts a sword in each of our hands, a real one, and two trainers step in to help us.

It isn't long that I feel a tap on my shoulder and turn around to face Mouse. She is glaring at me, but I can tell she is trying to look friendly. I want to tell her that she is never going to look sweet, all she will ever look like is a mouse, but I keep my mouth shut. I just smile as gently as I can manage at her and wipe the sweat from my red face.

"You're Irina, right?" she plays dumb, I can tell.

"Yes. District 2." I state, loud and clear.

She tells me her name, which really doesn't matter. To me, she is always just Mouse, I don't even bother to memorize her name.

"I saw you with the knives." She laughs in through her nose, which is much like a snort. I imagine her as a cow, and then get this strange, half-cow, half-mouse image in my mind of her. "You were good."

"Thank you." I do a dramatic curtsy and imagine Reed shaking his head at me and Edda waggling her finger in my face.

"Me and Edwin…" she trails off, and I notice she scrunches her nose when she talks quickly. I cringe inwardly and focus on her lips talking anyway. "We were thinking about joining up with you… if you'd want. We would get all the advantages, lead the others, recruit whoever wanted to join. You could be head, with Edwin."

Head? I didn't know there was a specific leader with the Careers. I consider.

"I'll agree. My brother will too."

"Do you speak for your brother, Devil Girl?"

Oh great, I have a nickname now. I groan to myself.

"It's none of your business, Mouse."

She scowls at the nickname I call her by to her face, but she seems to push it aside. They must really want Vander and I.

"Are we allies or what?" she holds out her hand, and I notice she has a few warts on her calloused hands. "Is there a problem?"

"No." I smile deviously. I spit into my hand and shake it with hers. She pulls back almost immediately, as if _I _am the one who is completely disgusting. "Allies."


	8. Eight: The Fighter

** Rainbow again. I don't have much to do except write this story until I go to band camp, so pretty much be expecting a chapter quite often if you are keeping up with my story! And I love reviews, good, bad, anything really. P.s. go to MaverickPaxAPunch's profile and read **_**Kingdom By the Sea**_**. It's a super good story and not many people have read it! Take my word for it! **

** Xoxo,**

** Rainbow**

Chapter Eight

For the remainder of the day, Vander and I train with Edwin and Mouse. We spend most of our first day at the combat stations, showing off our sword handling and knife throwing skills, and I become fairly handy with an ax. I find that Mouse makes up for her lack in looks in swinging a mace, and Edwin, the arrogant, blond snob, is great with a sword, like my brother. I find it comforting that, so far, I haven't seen anyone that is as good at knife throwing as me.

At lunch, the four of us push two picnic tables together and pile our plates with sandwiches and Capitol morsels. I sit next to Edwin, just to be nice, though he is quite a stuck-up, District One snob, and pawn Mouse off to Vander. She seems to be trying to flirt with him; badly I take it, by the look on Vander's face as she bats her eyelashes. This girl has seriously been womped with the ugly stick.

During the course of the lunch time, I help Vander and the District 1's recruit the boy from 4, Gerrit, into our pack, who is a dark-haired boy with clear, blue eyes who mumbles when he talks, like he is shy. When I ask him about Iris, he mumbles some response about her not wanting to talk to him at all. Apparently she doesn't want anything to do with the pack.

While we are eating, looking intimidating, I force myself to make conversation with the drab tributes from District 1. This happens quite often, the Careers spend all their life training and have no time to do anything else to brag about how rich they are. Luckily, Vander and I were "lucky" enough to have to take care of our mother, to make us somewhat sane.

On the second day of training, I am exhausted, my limbs sore, and my knee throbbing. Ro wraps it for me in a thick sort of gauze that holds the bone in, but I can still feel my knee cap trying to come out. I wince in pain whenever I walk on it, but I compose my face and with each step I take, I grit my teeth. No need to let anyone know what I am going through.

I go through training with the new pack of Careers, now containing me, Vander, Mouse, Edwin, Gerrit, and the girl from 5, Claudia. Though the boy from her District appears to be strong and able, her slim, flexible body is more fit for the Career pack.

"How's the knee?" Vander whispers to me in line for food. "Feeling any better?"

"Shh!" I hiss at him. "Do you want everyone to know?" I lower my voice an octave lower. "And its fine, thanks for asking."

Vander chuckles. "Irina, you are utterly absurd."

"That's what they tell me." I smile, giving him one of my becoming extinct grins. Edda and Reed are only interested in fighting over tactics on how to train us, Lila and Nelson are too busy "Rocking the Bed" to care, and Lyme is so self-consumed with winning Brutus over to even attempt to help us. It looks like our mentors have left us on our own.

My brother and I sit down at our usual table, me taking my turn to sit beside Mouse. It isn't like she smells bad or anything, it's that she has taken a strong dislike towards me. It isn't my fault everyone has begun to call her Mouse. She looks like one, and her real name is something stupid and frilly, a District 1 name.

"Look over there." Claudia murmurs in her seductive, velvety voice. I admire her silky blond hair to her shoulders and decide I like her the best. She's the most normal out of the people I have met so far, and she seems the most like me. And she has an actual sense of humor.

I turn in her direction and she continues talking.

"And the love affair continues." She laughs at the two district 11 tributes, heads bent together, eating their lunch. The two of them are obviously not in love, that doesn't happen in the Hunger Games, but Claudia has a habit of making the mood lighter with her airy jokes.

I chuckle and pick apart my turkey with my fingers. The gravy sticks to my fingers and I lick it off my thumb.

"Aw, I just can't wait to see their pleading little faces when they bow at my feet, begging for mercy." Mouse rubs her hands together like she would be warming them in front of the fire. A cruel grin spreads across her squinted, rumpled features, and she brays her donkey laugh.

"Please don't hurt me! I'll do anything you ask of me!" Claudia imitates a crying, desperate tribute. "Don't kill me, oh no!"

Gerrit is quiet next to me, and I think that maybe I might like him best instead. He's quiet, and he doesn't have a donkey hee-haw for a laugh, and he doesn't eat disgustingly.

When the day is over, Vander leads me to the elevator, secretly gripping my arm to hold me up. He can tell my knee is bothering me already, and I can feel my knee cap coming out of the socket. I bite my tongue, tasting blood, and walk straight and tall into the elevator.

As soon as the doors close, I let myself lean into Vander and turn my face into his shoulder. It isn't a long ride to the second floor, but there are a few streaks of helpless tears running down my face when the big, glass doors swing open.

Without words, Vander picks me up in his strong arms, and holds me tightly against his chest. The pain radiates through my leg like a rock thrown in a puddle of water, ripples fanning out in all directions from the disturbed spot. He carries my to the sitting room and rests me on the couch. At first, I think the room is empty, which makes me happy to be alone while I am in pain. But in a second look, I hear a grumble and a soft voice beside me. I keep my eyes closed.

"What happened to her?" Brutus asks, I can tell by his voice.

"It's her knee again." Vander explains, and I feel him sit on the edge of the couch and wipe a tear away from me.

"I'll get some ice." Brutus' weight leaves my side and I groan softly. Having him here, the fresh, newest victor, makes me nervous, uneasy. Especially since the incident of the morning of the first day of training, when he basically grabbed my hand like that.

"Rina? Are you alright?" Vander asks, and I open my eyes. He is leaning over my with concern, there is still a slick line of sweat on his forehead from training, and his face is filled with concern for me.

"I'm alright." I whisper, cringing at the pain. I've had worse, but I've forgotten how much it hurts to have an injury like this. "Just – can I please be left alone."

He nods and I close my eyes, listening to his voice. "I'll see if I can find someone to wrap up your knee again."

"Okay." I try to make my voice sound fine. It doesn't.

There is the sound of his boots on the hardwood floor as he leaves, and I finally am alone to settle into my injury in peace.

"Irina?" My eyes flash open to the voice of silk and my head spins with sitting up too quickly. Brutus is standing over me, holding a bag of ice. In truth, it is kind of him, not to mention uncharacteristic, but I doubt the ice will make it any better.

"I'm fine, I swear." I tell him, but he slips his hand under my waist and slides me over further into the couch cushions. He helps me sit, so my knee is in his lap, which I can't help. It feels strange when he touches me, like he has been sticking his fingers in electrical sockets and then touching me.

"I had the same injury a while back." He murmurs quietly in a voice fit for angels. "Ice will help, I promise, Devil Girl."

I moan at the nickname I have acquired ever since Ro dressed me in all that red. "No it won't."

"Be quiet." He instructs and rolled the pant leg up over my swollen knee. I grunt as he does so, and he unravels the bandages, taping it down.

"Ow, stop it-" I cry, but I am silent as soon as the bag of ice presses to my knee cap. "Oh." My voice comes out a joyful moan as he puts pressure on the bag of ice, icing my injury. It feels better than I could have imagined.

"Yeah, oh." He smirks, and I lean back and close my eyes. "Is that better, Irina?"

"Keep doing it." I tell him and he chuckles.

"Have you put any consideration in what you're going to do for the Gamemakers?" he asks after a while of wonderful knee icing. The Gamemakers do exactly what their name implies, they create the Games. Everything,: the Arena, the horrors inside of it… Each tribute is required to go in front of them and display their strongest skills to impress them. Each tribute strives for the highest scores from 1 to 12.

"Knife throwing, what else?" I shrug my sore shoulders.

"I don't know. I thought maybe you would sing or strip or something."

"Brutus!" I sit up suddenly, laughing.

"What? You're a bit spontaneous, don't you know that?" he raises his eyebrows, questioning what I will do next.

"I wasn't quite aware, thanks for telling me."

We are quiet for a long time, and he goes back to the kitchen to get more ice. Then he wraps it under more bandages, nice and tight, so it stays put.

"Can you walk alright now?" he asks after he helps me up off the couch.

I take a few limping steps and nod.

"You're a true fighter, aren't you girl?" he laughs to himself like he is sharing some sort of inside joke within only his own mind. "Never seen someone get up with such ease after such a traumatic injury."

"Are you serious? If my father was here, he would yell at me and tell me I didn't get off the couch quick _enough_." I sneer, suddenly angry with my father all over again. I remember him telling me I needed to kill my own brother.

"You're the strongest person I've ever seen." He smiles genuinely at me, not his terrible, cruel smirk he uses for most people I've seen. This smile is genuine, and I see it in my mind when the head hits the pillow at night.

"I-rin-a Rad-ke." The robotic voice reads off my name in a robotic voice as it call me back to demonstrate my skills in front of the Gamemakers. I look back to Vander and he nods to me. He will be going after me, the districts go in order.

As I step through the big doors to the Gamemakers' lair, Brutus' words ring in my head, just as they did last night before I fell asleep.

"You're a true fighter, aren't you girl?"

"You're the strongest person I've ever seen."

I step forward to face the Gamemakers.


	9. Nine: The Settled Score

**It's Rainbow again! Here's the newest addition to my story! Please review! Tell me what you think of Brutus. Sexy, evil, gorgeous? **

Chapter Nine

The Gamemakers ae on a platform above me, all seated and chatting with each other. I am glad that I am District 2, one of the first tributes to show their skills. The Gamemakers usually get drunk around District 8, or so I've heard. But now they seem lively enough.

"Irina Radke." I speak loud enough for them to hear. Most of them look up and the murmuring subsides. "District 2."

They stare past me blankly, and I try not to look like a deer caught in the headlights of a car.

My eyes lock on a wall of knives carefully placed in order of smallest to largest. I take most of them, enough of them to impress. I decide I will throw them by the blade, and then by the handle, secondly.

There are human shaped targets in this room, much like I have grown used to in training. The knives suddenly feel like boulders in my hand, and I feel the cold blade of one of the smaller ones open a shallow cut on my palm. I hardly wince, I ignore it and focus on the obstacle in front of me.

I throw the first knife by the blade, and it goes whirling through the air and sinks itself into the heart target of the nearest target. I look up to the Gamemakers, who seem to be watching me with interest.

I send the next knife in a straight path to another target, hitting it dead center. By now, the targets are moving, and I chuck more knives at them, alternating blades and handles. Each hits dead center.

I decide that merely hitting the targets is not enough. To be part of the Career Pack, you need to have mad skills.

I take my last knife and send if slicing through the air at rapid speeds. It slices the head off three plush dummies in a row.

It seems like all of this has lasted an hour, though it has really only been less than five minutes. It is silent, besides my nervous, rapid breathing and the pound of adrenaline through my blood that is always triggered once I show off my knife skills. A few of the Gamemakers are nodding and smiling, and I nod once and turn to leave.

My boots make heavy clunking noises as I make my way to the door. I stumble on my way out, slipping on the slick surface of the ground, and I can feel I've skinned my knees, along with my hands, and it's opened the bloody, knife-induced cut on my palm again. I hurry, bleeding, through the doors, wiping the blood away from my hands, though it is bleeding through my pant legs.

"What'd you do now?" Vander asks me on his way in, heading to swing his sword for the Gamemakers.

"I – um – fell?" I shrug. I am surprisingly clumsy for a Career, it's a wonder I haven't fallen on any knives in my lifetime. Let's hope they aren't short one tribute this year.

He smirks and continues walking as I pass him.

"You're bleeding, Irina." Mouse jeers at me as I return to the fire-building station.

"I fell." I admit again.

"I hate the sight of blood when I'm not the one who's caused it." She leans away from me, like she has some super sense that allows her to smell blood.

"Well, we hate the sight of you, but we all get used to it." I remind her, and Edwin and Gerrit laugh. Claudia blows into the fire as the instructor tells her to, and it ignites on the dry wood. I watch the flames dance and she leans back, her pretty blond hair swinging to conceal her cruel smirk.

The rest of the day, our group trains at the combat/wrestling station. We wrestle the trainers, we are not allowed to wrestle other tributes, and quite frankly, I don't think I could have dealt with Mouse pressing her meaty body on top of mine over and over. And the weapons would have been too taunting…

The trainer says that I am fairly good, though nowhere near as good as Gerrit, who can take down the professionals using only his hands. It is fun to watch Mouse try to wrestle, though, because she is just so terribly bad at it. She flops around like a spaghetti noodle in the small arena, and she is taken down easier than a child. I laugh as she walks by, defeated once again, and smirk at her. She cusses at me, which I encourage with an even wider smile.

Vander helps me hobble into the elevator again, and I lean into him heavily as soon as we are alone. He rubs my back gently with his strong, calloused hands, and I keep the tears in today.

"Do you think you did alright?" he rubs his hands into my shoulders and I wince at how good and bad it feels at the same time. If I were Vander, I would wish I had someone to rub my shoulders. I wrap one arm around his waist and press my head to his chest. "At the training scores, I mean. Irina, what are you doing?"

"Nothing. I just – I think I did fine." I give up my thought and turn it into something else. "They seemed to think so."

"Me too." He helps me hobble down the hall. "I think we scored well."

I hope so, but we won't find out until all of the tribute's scores are broadcasted tonight on television. The Careers genuinely score well, usually in the 8 to 10 range, with the occasional huge 11. As far as I know, no one has ever scored a 12, but there is always the first time for everything.

Vander and I are mostly quiet at dinner while Lila chats openly with Cillian, who is dressed in his usual colors of neon. I have been doing my best not to look at him lately, apparently in his excitement for the Hunger Games season, he's been dressing even more crazily than usual.

"Irina, what happened to your hands?" Brutus grabs my curled up fist from across the table and I let him uncurl my fingers away from my palm. There is still an angry red slit across it, and it is ripped up with scrapes from falling. I smile sheepishly.

"I fell."

He runs his finger across the biggest gash gently, and I shiver, not because it hurts.

"Is that your answer for everything?"

"I fall a lot."

Cillian laughs and takes a sip of his white wine. I smile, the first time I have actually smiled at him. Ro winks at me across the table and holds his own wine glass up, like he is toasting me. A toast to the most beat up hands in the Hunger Games.

"I wish you'd be more careful. You need to actually be _alive_ for the Hunger Games." Edda sips her water sourly, a scrunched up look on her face.

"She can't help falling. She could walk across a completely flat surface and fall flat on her face." Vander comes to my defense.

"Careers aren't clumsy." Lyme piffs angrily. I can tell she is still mad at me, apparently her and her sometimes boyfriend, Brutus, are fighting.

"I am. And I'm good at it." I tell her with a grin. She scowls right back at me sourly.

All of us retire into the sitting room to watch the training scores. Cillian gives me a glass of wine, which I am unsure of at first. I've seen my father drunk, though that was usually off of the cold, hard whiskey. I don't know if wine can do the same sort of things, but it's safe to assume. I sip it carefully.

Lyme turns the television on, warming up the projection screen, and I sit at one end of the couch beside Vander. My hand is bandaged, thanks to a Capitol doctor, not Ro this time. The medicine they put in it stings terribly, but it is healing already, almost magically before my eyes. Possibly tomorrow, it will be gone altogether.

I bring my knees to my chest, setting my glass down on the odd shaped table beside me. I am nervous, suddenly doubting my skills. I wonder if I did as well as I thought, maybe the Gamemakers were shaking their heads instead of nodding them. Vander seems fine, calm as he always is. I wish I had his quiet demeanor. He always keeps his feelings concealed, as I tend to wear mine on my sleeve. My face is like an open book.

Caesar Flickerman, the talk show host for the Hunger Games, comes onto the screen and explains the whole scoring process for the training scores over again. I do my best not to hyperventilate, and I feel my brother's hand on my knee. He is smiling gently, reassuringly, like he always has. I focus on relaxing each part of my body methodically. Untighten my shoulders, unclench my fists.

"From District 1, Edwin." Caesar speaks on the screen. "With a score of…" he pauses to put on his serious face. "10."

I watch his picture come up and a "10" swivel around the moving image of his turned up nose.

Mouse gets a 9. Something to beat. I focus on that.

"And we have the brother and sister duet from District 2. Vander Radke with a score of…"

Vander's hand tightens on my knee ever so slightly.

"9."

"Oh! Vander!" I million people cheer as a "9" swivels around his moving portrait. They all seem just as relaxed, but I am having great trouble breathing.

"And his sister, Irina Radke." Caesar talks into the microphone. "With a score of…"

I suck in my breath and feel my heart slam into my chest. I _need _this to be a high number. I want to close my eyes.

"10."

The entire room erupts with cheers, and I feel my face break into a smile. Vander pokes me in the ribs and I scream wildly with laughter, so happy for this to be over. Not that there isn't other obstacles to complete, but I've passed my training scores, and I have beaten Mouse. That is all I need.

After toasting and cheering and congratulating, we settle in to watch the rest of the training scores. Gerrit gets an 8, nothing to sneer about in the world of the Hunger Games.

The thing that most interests me is that Iris receives a 10. Her cold, dark eyes flash across the screen, and a 10 circles around her digital body. I wonder what she could have done that was so impressive. I've watched her in training, she is utterly average in that area of fighting.

Gerrit gets a 9 and Claudia a 10, average for the Careers yet again. The rest of the tributes get normal, some very low, the highest maybe a 6. Brutus catches my eye from across the room and I stare right back at him. His eyes, that are not black but the lovely chocolate color, stare right into mine, and he smiles. I smile softly back, unsure of what else to do.

And then he winks at me.


	10. Ten: The Decision

**Hey you guyses, Rainbow here, as usual. Just letting you know that it's really close to let Irina loose in the Arena! Please read, and I LOVE reviews and I really appreciate them. So, if you have the time, I would really love it if you would! Here is chapter 10, enjoy!**

Chapter Ten

"Hold still." Ro tells me, gently brushing a strand of my hair out of my eyes. He, Kade, and Spero have been working on my all day, polishing up my look, helping me relax. Tonight are the interviews, where each tribute must get in front of a crowd to be filmed and interviewed by the Caesar Flickerman. I must look my best. This is also a time to earn as many last minute sponsors that I can.

"Irina, you look beautiful." Spero tells me while twirling my hair up on the top of my head. It is curled and woven with red; I have decided to embrace my new nickname, Devil Girl, to my advantage. Ro and my preps are breaking out the brightest reds that they can manage.

"How's the chin?" I reach up and feel under my jaw, checking to see if the sharpness is still there.

"Beautiful. You are a beautiful girl and don't you ever forget that." Spero slips sparkling pins into my hair that are flashing a metallic red and reflecting the light.

I look to Kade, which I have made a habit. Since he can't talk, Spero tells me he has some disorder, he always nods. He shakes his head encouragingly. I smile at him.

"Have any of your mentors helped you prepare for your interview?" Ro asks while he brushes body paint, the color of bright red, over my eyelids.

"Lyme tried to help me." I tell him, which is basically true. She sat there and criticized whatever I suggested and stalked off claiming "Maybe you should ask Brutus to help you!" I don't mind, at the training center back in District 2, we were constantly interviewed to prepare, just in case we were to volunteer.

"Do you feel prepared?" Ro gets me to pout my lips and he puts on a bright shade of red lipstick. He then goes on to blush with cheeks.

"Yes. I was going to talk about the brother and sister thing." I shrug.

"Alright. Let's put your dress on." Ro helps me up out of the chair, an Kade and Spero help me undress.

"Close your eyes, Rina." Ro tells me and I let my eyelids flutter closed gently. Spero helps me step into something that feels silky, and when I open my eyes, she is tying it in the open crisscrosses in the back.

I gasp at the creature in the mirror before me. My breath won't release from my chest as I take in Ro's beautiful creation.

If a devil can be beautiful, that's what it is. My makeup is intense, eyelids painted bright red to match my lips and blush. Ro's painted accents at the corners of my eyes, a swirl with two peaks coming off of each red line. My hair is in a twirled up-do, woven with bright red.

But the hair, the makeup, all of it entirely put together can never match the dress.

It is the brightest red you can get, almost too vibrant to look at. But then you _want _to keep looking at it. It is strapless and hugs my body perfectly to make my muscles and what curves I don't have stand out. It is ruffled at the bottom and hugging my knees in a loose mermaid at the bottom, just enough room for my spiked, red jeweled heels to stand out. As I can see, it ties in the back, exposing some of the skin of my other side through the crossing. The fabric hides my bottom, but it is just on the provocative side, enough to make me stand out as District 2's Devil Girl.

"Oh – Ro." I gasp, stumbling in my heels. Spero catches me and sets me back up straight again. "It's just –"

"Perfect, love." He takes me in his arms. "We're both red. We're matching now."

I take in his beautiful, flaming hair, his red suit, his painted fingernails. He smiles warmly and smooths over my pale-skinned shouler.

"Thank you." My voice comes out in a soft shaking tone, and I try not to cry. That would mess up Ro's beautiful makeup he has done so perfectly for me.

"Darling, it's all you." He smiles, his teeth glinting.

I am brought to the building where we will be interviewed in a car, along with my stylist and prep team of two. Cillian meets me there and leads me to a row of chairs where the tributes will be sitting as they wait to go on stage. Vander is already there, sitting straight in his chair, his blond curls looking vibrant against his black and red suit.

"You look handsome." I seat myself gingerly on the edge of my seat, afraid to damage my beautiful dress. He stares at me, pop-eyed.

"You – um – look…" he grins. "Beautiful, Irina."

"Don't you mean Devil Girl?" I fluff a hanging curl from my face that is red, and tuck it behind my ear.

Vander smiles and pats my hand.

We sit and wait for the other tributes to arrive, which is a slow process; Vander and I had arrived early. Our mentors arrive to see us before the interviews, dressed up nice for the cameras. Lyme takes in my dress with her large, golden eyes gaping.

"Irina…" she breathes. "You look-"

"Beautiful." A velvety, silky voice speaks from behind her, and Brutus steps out from behind her. "You look beautiful, Irina."

Even under my makeup, I can tell that they see my cherry red blush. I play with my fingernails, which are also painted voltaic red.

"Ladies and Gentlemen." A robotic Capitol announcer comes on over the stadium intercom. "Welcome to the 52nd Annual Hunger Games Interviews. As a reminder to all citizens, betting stands will be closed at midnight tonight. If you acquire assistance, please contact the Betting Headquarters. Without further ado, please welcome our host, Caesar Flickerman!"

There is cheering as Caesar enters from stage left, the opposite of the tributes. He is yellow, literally all yellow. He is a different color every year, and now he is a light, powder yellow, a beautiful spring hue. Cheers erupt from the crowd, and he welcomes everyone and then invites Mouse up onto the stage.

He interviews her, and she plays stupid and arrogant. No one truly buys it, but she is a Career, and people are betting on her, so they cheer loudly. Edwin goes on next, and he talks snobbily about how long he has been training and how much his family spent on him.

My fists tighten, as soon as he walks off the stage. I am next, and a backstage helper with a tag around his neck is ushering me away onto the huge stage.

And then there are cheers as Caesar welcomes me onto the stage. I sheepishly smile like I just walked into something I wasn't supposed to see.

"Oh, _yes_! Irina Radke!" Caesar takes me by the hand and leads me to the chair across from his. I take a seat smoothing over my dress, and wave for the crowd. "OH, Ms. Radke, that is the greatest dress I have seen in a long time! Can you give me the number of your stylist?"

Laughter erupts from the crowd, and I giggle a small amount.

"His name is Ro. And he's amazing. He's even helped me embrace my nickname." I babble and make myself shut up after the last thing. I have a habit of bantering randomly when I am under pressure.

"Ro, yes? And how _about _that nickname, Ms. Irina?" Caesar chuckles heartily. "Devil Girl? How does one accept such a name?"

"It was easy really." I use my hand motions as Lyme told me to do. This is possibly the only thing that she has taught me. "The red eyes were already there, Ro just had to create a dress to match."

There are oohs and ahhs from the crowd, and I bat my red-painted eyelashes. Flirtatious is always a good thing to do to win over the crowd. And sponsors.

"So, about your training score…" Caesar leans back in his circular chair and crosses on of his legs that is seethed in yellow suit pants. "10. What a score for a girl your size, huh? Can you let us in one what your "special talent" is?"

I look to the camera crew, the nearest camera, and then glance back to Caesar. "I'm very good with knives. I'm ready to get in the Arena. I've learned many techniques since I've been here in the Capitol."

"Ah, yes. Can you tell us about that, Irina?" Caesar encourages.

"Well." I pause for effect. "When stabbing someone, you aim for between the ribs so you have room to jerk the knife around. And then you don't pull out the weapon until you see their soul fading from their eyes."

I can tell I've gone a bit too far. Caesar looks baffled, his yellow eyebrows furrowed in a straight line.

"And – about your brother, Irina." He changes the subject and I blush. "He volunteered to save you, did he?"

"Yes. Save me from what, I don't know. I can handle things myself." I catch myself from sending a mean shout-out to my brother. "But I love him very much. He only volunteered to protect me. Our father – he forced me to volunteer."

"And do you plan on winning?" Caesar becomes interested.

I pause, thinking about it. I truly don't know, I don't think I can kill my brother. No, correction: I _can't _kill my own brother.

"No." I tell him, my eyes cold with the realization. Vander will win, I won't. I want him to return home more. Especially to get back at our father. He hates me anyway, I misewell hate him too.

Suddenly, the buzzer goes off, the three minute buzzer that signifies the end of my interview. I shakily stand and wobble in my heels, and Caesar holds my hand up, high above my head.

"Ladies and gentleman, Irina Radke!"

The crowd cheers and whoops, and I shakily make my way off the other side of the stage, feeling woozy.

Nelson catches me when I fall, and the ceiling spins. My mind is just coming to terms with the fact that I am not coming out of the Arena alive. All I can do is do everything in my power to save Vander without telling him what I am doing.

"Irina, are you sick?" he asks with concern.

"I don't know." I admit, and the crowd cheers as my brother enters from the opposite side of the stage.

"Here, sit her down." I hear Edda demand, and someone slips their hand into mine. It is Lila, and I suddenly am glad she is here. Nelson sets me down on the floor, and I hold my head in my hands.

"Are you feeling better?" Reed asks, though he is really concerned about Vander's interview.

"No." I manage to squeak out.

"I'll take her back to the Training Center." Brutus says. "Being here will only make her worse."

I feel his arms slip under my body, and I close my eyes. He holds me against his chest and begins to carry me. His steps are side-to-side swaying, and I work my hardest to keep down my stomach. I utterly, and as soon as we are outside, I have to tell him to set me down so I can vomit into a bush.

"Are you alright, Irina?" he asks me as he rests a hand on my back.

"Feeling a little better now." I wipe my mouth, embarrassed. He doesn't seem to mind, he scoops me back up again.

"Come on. We need to get you back to rest. You're going into the Arena tomorrow."

**So how did you like this chapter? Please review, and Irina will be going into the Arena soon! I really appreciate your reviews! So please just tell me what you think. New chapters out soon! **

**xoxo**


	11. Eleven: The Discussion

**Hey guys, last chapter before the Arena. Finally, you will get to see sadistic kids try to murder each other, which is what you've been waiting for…. But first, I need to put in this last chapter on… please stay with me here, and I will love you forever if you review! After all, you guys give me the inspiration to write more, so keep those reviews going! Anyway, that's my mindless banter for the day. **

** Xoxo**

** Rainbow**

Chapter Eleven

There is a car already waiting for Brutus and I when we get to the busy street. Brutus puts me in the cab, and I lay my head against the slick leather of the seat. He slides in next to me and puts my head in his lap to keep me from getting car sick. I already feel terrible, and he is nice enough to get me out of there.

"How's your stomach?" He asks gently, brushing my long side bangs off of my forehead. I can tell I am sleek with sweat, especially with the fever that has come on so suddenly.

"Queasy." I answer weakly. My vision is becoming a tunnel, and everything I see swoops around me in huge crashing waves. I never have thought about death before, but now that i have considered it, all the thoughts are rushing into my head.

"We're almost there." He promises, and as soon as the car stops, he helps me out. I stumble, and he sits me on the side of the curb so I can take my shoes off. I hold both of my tall heels in my hand, and he scoops me up again. My vision is spiraling, as he carried me through the doors and into the elevator. He is surprisingly gentle; I never would have thought his strong arms could form a cradle.

When we arrive on the second floor, he carries me to the same sitting room where he iced my knee after training and lays me down on the couch. I close my eyes and try to get ahold of myself. When I open them again, Brutus is gone from beside me to sit in the chair opposite the couch, and he has covered me up with a light blanket.

I sit up carefully, and I happily take note that the nausea doesn't return, though I still feel a bit shaky. He leans forward out of his chair like he is waiting for something.

"You look a little bit better." He hands me a glass of water and I take it gratefully. I press the cool glass to my lips and carefully sip the water.

"I feel a little better." I admit and take another careful sip.

"I have a question for you." He leans farther forward in his chair, his deep, dark eyes curious. "Do you _try _to get into trouble, or is it just attracted to you?"

I roll my eyes. As if I haven't heard that before. "I'm pretty much a magnet for accidents, Brutus."

This is the first time I have said his name in front of him, and it tastes wonderful to say the word. The name lingers on my lips and I want to say it over and over again.

"Then what are we going to do with you, Irina." He tsks and leans back in his velvet-covered chair, kicking his worn black boots up on the coffee table. My father would have yelled at me for doing that, but I don't say anything about it. "How will you ever survive in the Arena?"

"Luck I suppose." I shrug and wrap the blanket around my shoulders to sit up. "Elbow grease, maybe."

He laughs his deep chuckle that is like silky, expensive fabric.

"Brutus, I was wondering." I cross my legs underneath me comfortably. "If you don't want to talk about it, it's fine. But – how did you win your Games?"

Though Brutus' Games were just last year in the 51st Hunger Games, I don't remember them at all. It seems like I would have remembered such a beautiful face, but it seems to have escaped my memory for some strange reason.

"Killing." He nods his head, his face suddenly smoldering. "Betrayal. Yeah, mostly betrayal."

"What do you mean?" I ask.

"Never mind. Literal back stabbing if that tells you anything."

It does.

"I'm afraid of the Arena." I tell him finally. I haven't told anybody this, not even Vander; my own brother. I have been putting on the bravest face that I can, acting like I am all tough and high and mighty, a Career. But I am truly afraid. "I'm only 16. I'm not ready. I've never been ready-"

He is sitting on the couch beside me, his hand gently resting on my knee that isn't injured. His eyes are locked with mine.

"It's alright to be scared. I am too."

"You mean you were when you went into the Arena." I correct him.

"That, yes. And now. I'm afraid you'll let yourself get killed to save Vander." He sighs deeply like it pains him greatly to do so. Like he is letting out part of his soul through his breath. I cock my head in confusion.

"I'm not letting my father get what he wants. He never wanted Vander to win. I do. That's the end of the story, Brutus." I cross my arms over my chest stubbornly, sticking my tongue on the side of my cheek.

"No. It's _not _the end of the story, Irina." He snarls angrily. I shrink back and he softens his face. "You don't strike me as the type of person to give up."

"I'm not giving up. I'm just surrendering." I tell him with angry malice leaching into my trying-to-be-pleasant voice.

"That's the same thing." He snarls.

"No it's not. They're spelled differently." I stand up but grab the edge of the couch to steady myself. It is apparently too early to be standing up so fast, and he hovers next to me, ready to catch me if I faint. I won't even begin to give him the satisfaction.

"Just – don't go running into a spear just in spite of me." He pleads, but I don't dare look into his eyes. I am afraid I will melt and give in to him.

"I was hardly planning on it." I pull away from his hand on my back and wrench my spine straight once again. "But maybe I will now, thanks to you."

"Irina-!" he cries, but I don't stay behind to listen to him. I storm up angrily into my room, locking the door. I don't plan on opening it, not even when Vander and the others return. I don't hear Brutus knocking for me, and if he was, I wouldn't be answering it.

I strip Ro's beautiful dress off in the bathroom, folding it to put in my bureau. I am sad to see it go, but maybe Ro will rescue it to save or something.

I watch as my makeup washes red down the drain as I scrub my face with my palms. It reminds me of blood, flowing crimson, mixing with the water in the sink, and I splash the water angrily.

I let my hair down, carefully pulling out all of the pins to let the curls fan around my shoulders. I turn the shower on so there is a soft rain of water splattering against the shower floor, and I program it to smell like a bouquet of flowers. I undress the rest of the way and step into the shower, which feels better than anything I could imagine right now. I stand there a long time, long enough to not realize for at least 30 minutes that I am wearing my underwear still.

I slip them off and throw them out of the shower with anger. I stand there a long time until I squirt a dollop of purple shampoo into my palm. I scrub it into my hair and scalp deeply, making sure I get down as deeply as I can to my skin. The red in my hair washes down the drain as my red makeup did. I lather my hair up with anything I find in the shower, probably over washing it.

I step out of the shower and wrap myself in an oversized, white fluffy towel. I find a blue comb in one of the drawers and sit on the counter, getting to work brushing through my snarls. I sit there a long time, brushing through each strand of my hair individually, it seems like. I stare at myself in the mirror, same black hair hanging to the middle of my back, even farther when it's wet. My same eyes that are dark, like my father's, high cheekbones like two round apples. Sharp chin.

I pick up a bottle and chuck it at the mirror. I expected to the glass bottle to shatter into a hundred pieces, which it does. But it also breaks the mirror, cracking the iridescent surface.

I take a second look at myself in the newly broken surface, cracked and shattered. My nose happens to be positioned right where it is broken, and it makes it look even bigger than it already is. One of my eyes now appears larger than the other, and my lips are uneven on both sides due to the cracks that ripple outward.

Sounds about right. I truly am the girl in the mirror now.

I lean against the sink counter, my head in my hands, closing my eyes. I try to imagine myself in a happy place, perhaps a happy meadow where the sun is shining. There would be birds singing, but no trees because the meadow would be open and wide and free. Free of everything, where I could just simply run and run and never see the end of the beautiful fields of wheat.

I am crying now, the tears sliding down my cheeks in a fluid manor. I wipe them away angrily, but there are too many to keep up with. I gasp over and over along with my sobs, unable to contain them anymore. They come freely now, all of them I have ever bottled up. For my father, who forced me to fight. For my mother who was so sick she could never care about her only daughter. For Vander, who loves me so much, enough to volunteer against our father's will to protect me, even if it cost him his own life. For everyone who I have always felt bad for, hated, loved. Loved is the shortest list.

I break out of my crying trance after a long time. My eyes are red and puffy, I can feel it, and they sting, no longer to create any more liquid. I have cried all my tears.

I find some pajamas in my drawer, blue and expensive looking. They remind me of home and smell of the Capitol. I crawl into bed and close my eyes.

**Hey, so how did you like this chapter? The Arena will be in the next chapter, so keep reading! I love you guys for reviewing! Please do!**

** Xoxo**

** Rainbow**


	12. Twelve: The Arena

**Hey guys! The Arena is very near if you are reading this! Review and tell me what you think, I have had this chapter in my mind ever since I started writing! Big thanks to **_**The Knife Throwing Expert**_** for helping me come up with ideas for the Arena! I wouldn't want to write this without giving you credit Knife Expert! **

** Xoxo**

** Rainbow**

Chapter Twelve

"I thought I told you to get some rest." Ro scolds me as soon as he pulls my out of bed. I think I must've slept only an hour or two last night, and when I actually did manage to get a little rest, I had terrible, freakish nightmares. It is maybe 7 o' clock in the morning, though the Games don't start until about 10. The Capitol citizens tend to sleep late.

"Sorry." I mumble as he brushes a wet washcloth under my eyes. In the mirror above my bureau, I see that I have deep, purple circles beneath my eyes, the color of eggplant. I groan to myself.

Ro brushes out my hair with one of his special combs until it is shiny soft and silkier than it has ever been. Instead of my usual black rat's nest on top of my head, he makes it look like a beautiful waterfall cascading down my back. Ro carefully braids one small French braid across the top of my forehead so it is stuck down and leaves my hair at that.

"You look beautiful, little Devil Girl." He smiles, his eyes watering. Spero and Kade each take a turn to hug me, their eyes also misting over with tears. I inform them that it is alright and that they should be strong for me. I kiss each of them on the cheek with my pale pink lips.

I am offered breakfast, which I order through a microphone in my bedroom. They basically send me a buffet fit for ten; eggs, sausage, pancakes, waffles, potatoes, everything you could ever want for breakfast. I manage to force down a cup of water, since I don't know if there will be any means of hydration in the Arena, and a pancake with blueberry syrup.

Since I have already said my goodbyes to Ro, knowing I won't ever let myself see him again since Vander is going to win, I sit in my room by myself for a long time. I lean back and close my eyes, trying to imagine what death pit they will throw the 24 tributes into this year. I have watched many Hunger Games, there have been parched, dried deserts, snowy tundras. Those haven't been popular; most of the tributes died of dehydration or froze to death. They could send us into a jungle, or maybe deep woods. I imagine a vast ocean, miles and miles across, teaming with sharks and Capitol enhanced mutations.

I push the horrible images out of my head, thinking about something else. I hope that my mentors will line us up some sponsors; at least enough to send us water if we need it so desperately. Or some matches to make a fire, if it is terribly cold. I wonder if any of them even care enough. Maybe Nelson and Lila, they always seem to want to help, though both of them are stupid and probably won on pure luck and murder alone. Reed and Edda seem to be finished with the whole mentoring thing, like it is time to pass the responsibility on to the younger folk. Lyme… she seems to want to help. Though she seems more focused on Vander. Brutus? I don't know if he cares or not. I hope he does because he may be my last hope.

There is a knock on the door, interrupting me from my thoughts. I get up unwillingly and open it to Cillian. He bows to me politely, and I wrap him in a hug as he starts to sob.

"Cill, why are you crying?" I pull away from him; he smells way to strong of lilacs.

"I – I just hate watching my tributes go into the Arena. It just – just always makes me emotional." He pulls me in for another hug, and I let it last this time.

"It's going to be fine." I pat his back and get scraped on the hand with one of his rhinestones. "Why aren't you with Vander?"

"Reed was going to walk him out to the hovercraft. I wanted to –" he clears his throat and scratches at his thinly plucked eyebrows. "I wanted to walk you there myself. I kind of prefer you."

That is strange. Cillian has never shown a preference to me over Vander. But possibly he will help me get sponsors. That is what I need, though I am sure I have enough of them already. But if Cillian MacDonald is the one who saves me in a life or death situation…

"Thank you, Cillian. It's good to know someone cares." I take his arm and he leads me down the hallway. He will be escorting me to the take-off center where I will be lifted by hovercraft to the Arena.

"Someone certainly cares enough. Brutus was up all night, pacing." He leads me down a narrow hallway and into the elevator. The take-off grounds are in the back, and he takes me there.

"Fight strong, Irina." He pats my hand and kisses both my cheeks when we are standing in front of the mighty hovercraft. The door opens, waiting for me.

"I will. Thank you for everything Cillian." I wave to him and proceed into the craft.

"Good luck!" he calls, but I don't look back.

A man in a white lab coat meets me inside the craft, probably a Capitol doctor. He shows me to a second buffet of food, filled with even more things than this morning, if that is possible. I refuse almost everything I am offered, but accept a glass of water, again fearing the hydration issue.

"I'm just going to inject your tracker into your arm right now, Irina." The doctor tells me, and nurse assistant hands over the tray with a syringe. I hold out my arm and close my eyes, I have always hated needles. It's cold tip slides under my skin, and I wince, squinting my eyelids tightly.

"It's all done." The nurse tells me. "You should really eat something, dear."

"I'm not hungry." I tell her, and she refills my water to sip it again. I try to drink it, but even simple water tastes of acid. I set the glass aside. I instead focus on the window, but they are blacked out. They wouldn't want us tributes to see the Arena at a first- hand glance.

We land, and I am escorted to my waiting chambers. No one has ever been in this room before, since each Arena is created new every year, and this is the place where I will be prepared for the Arena.

On a chair, there are a pile of clothes, what I will be wearing in the Arena. I dress in them: a sort of black jumpsuit from head to toe that is almost made of a slick leather material with light shorts of the same material underneath and a white t-shirt. Over that, we get black boots, lace-up to the knee, and a jacket made of a slippery, plastic material.

Once the chair is clear, I sit at it, alone, preparing myself mentally. I am going to kill people in only minutes. I am going to do it intentionally. I am going to like it. I am going to _act _like I like it. I am going to mentally apologize to each person I kill.

"Irina." I look up to a Capitol man in a simple black suit. "You have a visitor."

"I don't want any visitors." I tell him quietly. I need to keep soothing myself, telling myself that it is okay. I suddenly realize that my heart is hammering like a drum in my chest. I fear that it is going to break my ribs.

"He says that it's urgent." The Capitol man insists.

I try to peek around him, and I catch a glint of dark hair. My heart stops for a beat or so and I nod to the man waiting in the doorway.

He lets Brutus pass him, who hurriedly slides past him into the small room. The door slides shut, and we are alone.

"Hi." I whisper, shyly for some reason.

"Hello." He nods softly. "Did you sleep well?"

"Hell no." I smile gently, uncurling my fingers at my sides. I hadn't realized until now, but they were curled into nervous fists. My palms are sweaty, and I wipe them on my suit.

"I didn't either when I was in your position." He takes a few steps toward me, and I notice his fists are curled nervously too. "How are you doing?"

"Fine. Just dandy." I let out a shaky sigh I haven't realized I have been holding for such a long time.

"I wanted to talk to you." He is standing right in front of me, suddenly holding my hand between both of his. "Please listen."

"I'm listening. I'll just stop when I don't like what you're saying." My voice shakes, and I fear deeply that my hand is sweaty in his. His hands are so strong, sure, calloused. Perfect.

"You've never been afraid to speak your mind, have you, Irina?" he looks deeply into my eyes, and I am surprised I don't dissolve, or worse, evaporate into thin air.

"Not until now." I whisper, my lip quivering. "I've never been afraid until I met you."

"Rina." He whispers, or rather mouths. "Please don't let yourself die. _Please_." As he does this, his hand slides across my cheek, smoothing over my pale skin, and positions itself in my silky, black hair.

And then he is kissing me. His lips press hard against mine, and at first, I don't know how to react at first. But then I truly feel him there, his essence, his body around me, his lips on mine.

And then I kiss him back, pressing my mouth to his with as much strength I can muster. My hand snakes up to hold his wrist as he holds my face in his hands, and his left hand retreats down to set itself on my waist. My arms slip around his neck slowly, and I stand as high as I can go on my tiptoes to tangle my fingers in his dark hair. I don't know how long we hold onto the kiss, but it seems like a long time. All I can feel is him; his body around me, his scent, everything is _him_, and nothing else could possibly matter.

"60 seconds." A robotic voice speaks above us, counting down how many seconds until I must be in my glass tube to rise into the foreign Arena.

Brutus pulls away, and the both of us cling to each other's lips as long as possible before we are truly separated. His hands stay on my face, hovering over my cheekbones, and his eyes read pain. I am sure mine do too. I want nothing more right now than to stay in Brutus' arms.

"50 seconds."

"You need to go." He whispers, and it is like I can taste him again.

"I know." I croak back weakly.

"40 seconds." The robotic voice continues.

"Brutus." My voice is soft and quiet

"Shhh." He softly strokes over my face one last time, moving his thumb over my cheekbone, touching every contour of my face. My eyes swivel over to the glass tube next to us and shudder, suddenly afraid and vulnerable. "It will be okay. It will all be alright."

"30 seconds."

"You fight hard for me, Irina." He slips something into my hand and I look down.

It is the knife he gave me the first day on the train.

"I can't break the rules." I whisper. The Hunger Games don't have many rules, but bringing in foreign weapons from the outside is strictly forbidden.

"But I can. And it means I'll be with you in the Arena."

"20 seconds."

I slip the knife into my sleeve, which is thick enough to hide the knife. No one can find out. Or they will blow me sky high.

"10 seconds."

Brutus leans in one more time, his hands in my hair, and kisses me hard one last time. He pulls away sure of himself this time. Our lips hold on to each other, but not like our last kiss where the both of us knew we needed to pull away, but weren't accepting it.

"I'll be with you in the Arena." Brutus' words ring in my head, and the cold blade of his knife presses into the skin of my wrist. I let my hand hold onto his as long as physically possible, knowing I will never see him again.

"5 seconds."

"I'll see you when you get out, okay?" Brutus hurriedly babbles, his dark eyes growing urgent.

I close my eyes a moment, and when I open, the glass tube is sliding around my body. I panic, feeling claustrophobic, thrashing and sweating heavily.

"Irina." Brutus mouths around the sound-proof glass. I look up, breathing hard, and he has his palm pressed to the glass. He is crying, something I never thought I would see, just one single tear rolling across his cheekbone. I press my hand against the glass like he did, like I could be touching his hand if there weren't a thick pane of glass between us.

The glass tube begins to rise with me in it.

"Brutus!" I cry.

"Irina!" he cries back, but I can't hear it. I only see it as he mouths the word. "Fight strong!"

And then he is completely gone and I am in darkness as I rise alone. My breathing becomes heavy, and I am having trouble taking in enough air. I can still taste Brutus' lips on mine, and I suddenly wish we had met at a different time. When it wasn't life or death. When our first kiss didn't have to be our last.

Then there is light. And I get my first look at the Arena.


	13. Thirteen: The First Battle

**Okay, so here is chapter 13! I hope you liked the last chapters! I really love it when I get reviews, so if you want to review, I would appreciate it! Good bad, I like to hear everything about my story. Please enjoy and tell me what you think! **

**Xoxo**

**Rainbow**

Chapter Thirteen

The sky above me is bright and yellow, that is probably the first thing I notice. A bright, stupefying yellow. I must survey the area, figure out my targets. After all, I can only take down so many of these people without my knives.

My knives! I see some of them, inside the Cornucopia, the golden horn where the bounty in the Hunger Games is kept. You don't trust anything in the Hunger Games unless it comes from the Cornucopia or sponsors.

We have sixty seconds before we are allowed to leave our plates, unless we want to be blown sky-high. Landmines are positioned under our feet, and if one of them goes off, it will ignite a chain reaction. There is a timer projected above the golden horn, counting down, and right now it is at 47 seconds.

I look around me and see that Claudia is next to me, also looking my direction. She nods to me once, her eyes narrowing, and I nod back. The boy from District 9 is on my other side, looking about ready to bolt and hide.

Problem is, there isn't anywhere _to _hide.

The Arena seems to be a sort of humid, dry desert, stretching out in almost every direction. To my left, there is an angry, expansive looking ocean slamming powerful waves against the rocky shore. The 24 tributes are positioned in the sand, and it look like to me that it is supposed to be like that to slow us down when running.

Now the clock is counting down to 30 seconds.

I catch the eye of Vander, who is next to the District 3 boy and Iris. He nods to me, our own language, and we know what we have to do. Be sure of ourselves, we must run straight into the Cornucopia and help finish off as many tributes as we can. Edwin, Mouse, Gerrit, Vander, Claudia and I all stand ready on their plates, eyeing each other and the weakest tributes that will be the easiest to catch. My body shivers with tremors, and I eye the knives in the middle of the Cornucopia. I will also need to grab a backpack or two before the smarter, lone tributes can get them

_**BONG…**_

__The gong sounds out and I spring from my plate, almost slipping in the sand. I grab a red backpack as I run past, slinging it over my shoulder. I accidentally knock down a girl a year or so younger than me, and quickly pull open my backpack from the zipper. I find a knife in it, not a great one meant for killing, but I bury it deep in her stomach. I throw her back to the ground, leaving the weapon to get it later, and continue sprinting to the center of the golden horn.

Vander and Edwin have already beaten me here, and my brother is already leaving without conversation, sword in hand. Edwin handles a spear and a curved sword, but it seems they have left the knives for me. I pick up as many as I can in each hand, telling myself I will come back for the knife jacket and the rest of my weapons.

I leap on a boy heading into the Cornucopia, rolling him over in the sand. He thrashes, pleading, scrambling frantically. I pull out a random knife, it turns out to be a straight, sharp-tipped one, and bury it in his chest, yanking it out almost immediately. He makes gurgling, helpless noises, growing more in agony as I stick it in his chest over and over again. The blood gets all over my hands, all over my slick jacket and jumpsuit. I look into his eyes, see his soul, see it fading in his eyes, and I remove my knife. I know he is dead, my first kill.

"Irina!" I hear a shout, and it is Claudia. She has cornered the two from district 7, they are exceptionally young this year, both probably 13 or 14. I sprint over to her, slipping over the blood in the sand that has already been spilled.

I take the girl. Claudia has her spiked club, she can only fight from long distances, but my knives can be thrown from long distance. The little girl goes down with a shriek, my knife burying itself in her back. It goes almost all the way in, only about an inch or so left showing, and when I roll her over, her eyes are un-staring.

"She's good." Claudia grunts between swings of her club. Her victim is apparently not dead yet, she swings her weapon above her head and strikes him in the neck again. "Go kill me a good one, girl."

I nod, running into the heat of the battle again, knives ready. Brutus' knife in my sleeve presses in on my wrist again, but I don't dare slide it out to risk losing it this soon.

I run back towards the Cornucopia, where two tributes are fighting over a crate of supplies. It look to me neither wants to kill the other, just get the most supplies to stuff into their rucksacks. I send a knife hurling toward the smaller boy's neck, and it pierces in only about a fourth of the way. I send another one flying, and by now his kill spot on his spine is open. It sinks in, spot on, but the other, bigger boy is sprinting away by now.

I send another knife flying at him, and it skims the back of his head. I can see he is slowed down, but he is still running down the beach. I come after him, throwing a knife at his leg to make him collapse. He does, just as I predicted and aimed.

I spring on him, ready to sink my blade into his chest as I did to my first victim. His eyes are terrified, and I catch the bluish glint in them from the sun. I hesitate-

There is a loud grunt as a large pair of arms pulls me off of the boy. I thrash, but my knives are no longer in my hand; the shock made me release them.

I look up into my predator's eyes that are a deep black color. This is the first time I have felt fearful in the Games, the boy is huge, and someone I might have underestimated. He throws me down on the ground with a mighty slam that hurts my small body. I cough harshly, tasting blood, and I spit it out in the sand. I reach for one of my knives, but they are buried in the sand. The huge boy that is truly a man raises an ax of his head and brings it down hard-

"No!" I hear a shout, and suddenly, a metal tip of a weapon is sticking through the boy's chest. His eyes grow wide with pain, and I scramble out of the way as he drops his ax into the sand. My savior pulls their sword from his chest and the victim collapses on the beach.

Vander offers me his free hand that isn't holding his life-saving sword, and I take it. He pulls me up out of the sand and brushes my jacket off. I am sweating, and the sand is sticking to the bare parts of my body.

"Thanks." I brush his shoulder off of sand, our sign of affection in the Arena.

"Your – um – knives." He clears his throat and smirks as I drop to my knees to fish my knives out of the sand. I gather up all of them, at least what think so, and slip all of them into my pockets. Vander leads me back to the Cornucopia where the Careers are assembling, and the both of us join the pack.

"Are they all gone?" Claudia pants, jogging up, the last to join the group. She holds her bloody club high with victory, like it is a trophy. I secretly finger Brutus' knife.

"As far as we know. Mouse and I checked all around the Cornucopia. A few of 'em sprinted in that direction, but we figured we'd hunt tonight." Edwin motions in the direction that the Cornucopia's tail is pointing, and I nod.

"Great. How many kills is that?" Mouse polishes her bloody ax and picks a piece of flesh which I'd rather not think about out from a spike in her mace. Gerrit sports a bow and arrows which he is half decent at shooting from my watching him in training.

We discuss our kills, which altogether makes 10 kills. I made four of those kills. A few minutes later, 10 cannons boom in salute of the dead tributes, confirming this.

"No more desperate survivors we can get to now." Claudia pushes her straight, blond hair over her shoulder, picking through a dried strand that is caked with blood in her long-cut bangs. "Misewell sort through what loot is left."

"Lotsa knives, Rina." Gerrit tosses me the knife jacket that I wanted earlier. I strap it around my stomach and chest, much like a bullet-proof vest with a hook-around belt. Vander hooks it in the back for me, and I put all of the knives I can fit in it all the slots, which is over 15. 5 across the chest, 5 around my stomach, and 6 in the slots in my newly acquired belt. I slip Brutus' knife into the side of my boot when no one is looking.

"What are these for?" Edwin pushes aside a wall empty of weapons we have taken down. I count 11 winter coats, all on chrome hangers. There is a single hanger at the end, someone has taken the 12th one.

"No idea." Claudia pushes a few of the coats back to run her hands over the fur of one of the hoods. "But what type of fur do you think this is? Mink? Polar bear?"

"Who cares." Edwin shrugs, spitting on the shiny surface of his sword. "Let's save them to burn as fire wood in case it gets really cold or something."

"No." I interject. "What if we need them for some reason."

"Why would we need winter coats in the desert?" Mouse rolls her squinty eyes, angry at me for no reason, as usual. She motions to the dry, bare, desert wasteland. "Are you serious, Radke?"

"The Gamemakers could make something…. Maybe rain or whatever, and we could use the coats to keep dry." Vander defends me, and Claudia and Edwin nod their heads in agreement. Mouse rolls her eyes again and starts rifling through her backpack.

I roll my own pack off of my shoulder, pulling the zipper open the rest of the way from when I found the knife inside of it. I pull out a wrapped loaf of bread, we will eat it tonight before it hardens in the dense desert head. Though being by the angry ocean, the air is moist, but still humid.

"What are these?" I pull out a rod made of orangish metal; bend at the exact half-way point.

"I know what those are." Gerrit speaks up, slinging his quiver of arrows over his shoulder. "Dowsing rods. You hold them out this certain way, and it vibrates when you find an underground water source."

"Great." Vander claps me on the back in a protective, back-off sort of way. "I think we've got enough water to last us a day or two in this heat."

"Yes, day one in the Arena." Edwin takes a swig from a camouflage canteen.

Claudia sneers, still playing with the fur on the strange winter coats. "As long as we get to go hunting tonight."

**Alright, there was the Bloodbath in the Arena. Please review, because I love when people do! Just need to know how my story appeals to other people. Anyway, hope you enjoyed, tell me what you think!**

**Xoxo**

**Rainbow**


	14. Fourteen: The Hunt

Chapter Fourteen

"Here, drink this." Vander tosses me a canteen of water, and it lands in my lap. I unscrew the cap and take a swig of the warm water; it is so hot it is almost boiling.

"Yuck." I sift a handful of sand through my fingers, handing him back the canteen. "That tastes bad when it's hot."

"Gotta stay hydrated, Rina." He offers me his hand and I take it, getting pulled up. I have washed my bloody jacket in the ocean surf and now smell like salt, and I am sticky with the same substance.

"Her choice." Edwin shrugs, sauntering up in the sand. "The sun's starting to set. Still boiling hot."

"That's the desert for you." Claudia comes up behind Vander and runs her fingers along Vander's neck. "Better find yourself some sunblock, gorgeous."

Vander blushes, his ears and cheeks turning a shade of cherry tomato. I narrow my eyes at the foxlike blond who is not even attempting to hide her flirting with my brother. And he seems to like it. Oh well, I guess Vander is used to have girls flock to him. He always had a herd of them following him at school.

"I don't think the Gamemakers put anything like that in here." Mouse plops down in the sand, stretching out her legs. The sun is already making her pasty skin peel red and her breakout is already glowing with irritation. She has a sour look on her face, she seems to have a bit of a crush on Vander as well.

"It won't matter once the sun goes down." Edwin sits next to Mouse. "It'll be dark and we'll be able to go hunting. Nowhere for those little rats to hide."

Rats indeed. If anyone here is a rat, it's snotty Edwin.

"Speaking of the rats." Claudia plops herself down next to Vander and plays with his fingers in the sand. He looks up and smiles at her, and Mouse makes a gagging noise. I bet the Capitol people are eating up Claudia and Vander's flirting at home. They will have more sponsors than anyone, I bet. "Who's left in this Game?"

I tick them off on my fingers. "All six of us… Iris." My breath freezes in my mouth for a moment when I speak her name. "Girl and boy from 6, I think. Boy from 8, girl from 9, girl from 11 and boy from 12."

"Shouldn't be hard. I don't think I saw anyone take to the water and risk finding land." Gerrit polishes the tip of his arrow on a piece of a ripped cloth. "I don't know what's out there, all I can see is desert."

"Look what I found." Edwin looks up from rifling through his pack, holding up something that looks like a pair of large spectacles connected to a leather strap.

"Can I see?" I hold out my hand and he drops the device into my palm. I hold the glasses up to my eyes, marveling at how much they maximize the landscape.

I zoom in the binoculars are much as they allow, focusing on something, _anything _in the distance. So far, all I can see is desert and more desert.

"Nothing." I hand them to Vander who has helped Claudia back up and is now brushing the sand away from his clingy jacket. He holds them up to his eyes and scans the horizon just like I did.

"I say we head in the direction the most of them went." Mouse points out, sifting sand through his fingers.

"Yeah, but we don't know which way they actually _headed_, Mouse." Claudia fluffs her blond hair over her shoulder which is somehow still perfect after all the battling. I can feel my own hair is a tangled mess, and I feel for one of the rubber bands Ro placed around my wrist. I pull my hair back into a braid, still leaving in the small, pretty French braid Ro put in in the front.

"Wait!" Vander exclaims with excitement. "I think I see something."

"Give me those!" Edwin re-claims the binoculars. "Besides, I'm the only one who knows how to use them right."

We all lean in closer to Edwin, waiting to see if what Vander claimed is truly real.

"Ha! I see it!" he exclaims with excitement. "Just a little clump of trees!"

"Give me that!" Claudia snatches it next, and it isn't long before all of us have taken a look at the mass of tiny, spiny-looking trees in the distance. I take a turn before Gerrit, who goes last, and once again proves why he is my favorite. He isn't snooty or out-there, or grabby at all. He is just quiet and doesn't seem to bask in anything too long. I will have to ask him how he handles his murders so well.

"I think we should go hunting." Mouse suggests after we have all taken multiple glances through the special lenses. "It's getting dark, and I think it's finally starting to cool down."

Yeah, cooling down from 120 degrees to 100, Mouse.

"I agree. I want to have some time to actually play with my victim." Claudia rubs her hands together and I see her wink at Vander. I look away, disgusted.

I think hard to remember the names in my head of the remaining tributes. Iris, of course. I almost expected for her to survive the bloodbath, but I doubt she has much to survive in this wilderness.

There is the girl from 6, her name is Julia, if I remember it correctly. Then there are the both of them from 8, and I remember the boy being fairly large and able. I don't remember seeing him leave the Cornucopia with anything or other, but he could be a potential threat. His name is Terrin, I believe, a slightly girly name for a boy his size and strength. He might be a problem.

I will bet the girls from 9 and 11 are probably allied, possibly with the boy from 12. They seem like they want to hide more than anything, possibly in the forest that is far away in the distance. I don't recall their names, possibly the boy is a Buck or something similar to that.

"Rina, stop standing there." Vander tosses me a flashlight, and I flick it on. The iridescent light makes the sand sparkle, and if this were any other time, and I wasn't in the Arena, I actually would have admired the glittering, individual grains. But instead, I run after my brother, who is already brandishing a torch, blazing with a flame made from matches and a bit of fabric wrapped around a metal pole.

The pack heads out, each of us weighed down with either a flashlight or torch, and with weapons that we will all need. I keep Brutus' knife safely tucked in my boot and follow them all, staying behind the group a little bit to watch out backs. Just in case the Capitol decides to set a pack of mutts on us from behind.

"Do you think someone should have stayed behind to guard the camp?" Gerrit pipes up for the first time in the Careers bantering conversation about killing joyously. "What if someone steals something?"

"No one's going to steal something." Edwin piffs. "Who would we have left, then?"

"You." He mumbles under his breath so only I can hear. I put my hand over my mouth and giggle quietly. He steps back to walk with me, and we fall into silent tread together.

It is at least an hour or two when we begin to be able to see the knob of spiny trees without the binoculars. The closer we get to it, the more it looks like the Dark Forest from the tales my mother used to tell me when I was little. She would tuck me in and pull the covers up to my chin nice and snug, kiss me on the forehead.

"Tell me a story." I would say to her, all those times I was small and I was just a child. I might have even been a little bit cute back then, maybe my chin wasn't sharpened yet.

"What one do you want to hear?" She would smooth over my forehead, pushing my black hair back.

"The one where the girl who looks like me gets caught in the big forest."

My mother always acted concerned the story about the huntsman who was told to bring back the girl's heart in a box. But she always told it to me anyway, because it was my favorite, though she wouldn't do it for anyone but me.

"Are you sure, darling? This is the one with the scary forest."

"That's my favorite part. I promise I won't get scared."

It was an empty promise. I always _did_ have nightmares. Of wandering around in the Dark Forest on my hands and knees, being attacked by the creatures that lived there. But I always wanted her to tell it for some reason. It was my favorite story. Or maybe it was just the way she told it. With expression and a voice for every different character.

"Ugh. It's muggy here." Claudia complains, dragging her club on the ground like it weighs 200 pounds.

"You're going to get mud in your spikes." Edwin points out. By now, we are at the edge of the forest, just above the spiny branches of the overhanging trees. They vaguely remind me of hands reaching down to touch me, grab me and hold onto me until I cannot let go.

"I don't care." She complains. "This place is creepy."

"Come on, let's go hunting." Mouse urges, swinging her sword a bit too playfully. "We're wasting time."

I feel like I need to get out as soon as I enter the dark, overhanging cloak of knobby trees. I slip behind Vander, he has always been like my shield, and Gerrit slides in behind me. Is suppose he senses that I am scared, and he is nice enough not to mention it to anyone. He also seems to be protecting me, like Vander is, silently.

There is a deep owl hoot from ahead, and the six of us shine our flashlights into the top branches. There is the flapping of wings, but I don't see anything, and there are twigs snapping behind us. Vander whips his torch around, revealing nothing.

"I feel like someone's watching us." Mouse whispers quietly, the first human voice I've heard in a long time.

"All sorts of –" Claudia clears her throat. "Creepy crawlies in here."

"Who knows." Edwin shrugs and pushes onward. "Let's keep going."

"No, let's set up camp." Claudia insists and Mouse nods in the beam of my flashlight.

"I can't believe this." Edwin rolls his eyes. "I can't believe you're scared. You're just a bunch of wussy girls."

"Don't be sexist." Vander thrusts his torch in Edwin's face. "I think we should make camp, too. The sun will be up soon, and it will be getting light out. Then we can hunt."

Edwin swears heavily and kicks the dirt. "I'm going hunting. If you want to come." He motions to all of us. We all stare back at him blankly, even brave Claudia.

"Fine." He spits on the dirt at our feet. "Maybe I'll see you on the other side. Mouse, are you coming or not."

Mouse shakes her head and slips behind Vander's shoulder.

Edwin turns around and stomps through the brush. We shine our lights on him the entire time, waiting to see if he will come back. He doesn't.

"He'll be back. Don't worry, Mouse." Vander reassures. He clears a spot, making room for us in the dirt. "We can sleep on our jackets."

The luxuries of the 52nd Hunger Games.

I spread out my jacket on the forest floor next to Gerrit. He curls up, fitting almost his entire body onto his own jacket, suddenly reminding me of a little rodent. I smile, laying down my head on the warm ground that seems to be radiating heat.

"I'll keep watch." He suggests.

There are various murmurs of "thanks" and "wake me up in a few hours."

"Night, Gerrit." I nod to him and smile lightly. "Wake one of us up when you get tired."

"Nah." He shrugs and pats my arm and I curl my jacket sleeve under my head to become a pillow. "You gotta sleep."

"So do you." I flick my flashlight on and off. This is followed by a few annoyed shouts from Claudia about "trying to get some sleep."

"I'm fine." He taps his head. "My brain stays awake a long time."

"Suit yourself." I smile at him one last time before closing my eyes. My body allows me to fall into a light, dreamless sleep.

Just like the morning of Reaping day, my body is awake before my eyes are open. There is still dark behind my eyelids, it is still dark out. I smell something rusty, something metallic in my nose. I roll over, and my face gets wet with a runny substance.

Wait.

I open my eyes to pitch black, besides a flashlight strewn in a random position, pointing in towards the forest around us. I feel the wetness on the ground again, this time with my fingertips, and then I feel around for my flashlight.

I flick it on, studying the strange substance on the ground. It is reflective, something very bright red under the flashlight rays.

I gasp. It is blood all over the ground.

**Okay you guys, please enjoy and review! I am going on vacation tomorrow, so no new chapters will be up within the next few days, but maybe on Friday! Enjoy!**

**xoxo**

**Rainbow**


	15. Fifteen: The Crow

**Back from vacation, everyone, and I am going to update! Haha, what, do I have like 3 people who read this? Well, here you go 3 people, you rock!**

**Xoxo**

**Rainbow**

Chapter Fifteen

Blood. It is blood all over the ground and all over my hands. Suddenly, the substance is very warm and burns my skin, the liquid scorching my neck and trickling in my hair.

My first instinct is that I am hurt and I just can't feel it. I feel all the way down my body, but feel nothing. Only the wetness soaking into my clothes and touching my skin almost too sickeningly close.

I turn my flashlight on each of my companions, one by one. My heart leaps in my chest as I first turn it on Vander. But he is sleeping, sound as an angel, looking like one too with his messy halo of blond hair. Claudia is snuggled up to him, her head resting on his arm that is resting across the ground. Mouse is turned away from him, from the both of them. She is obviously angry, for Claudia to steal Vander away from her.

Edwin, of course, is gone.

I turn my flashlight with my shaking hands on Gerrit. He is all red. All wet. All bloody.

"Gerrit!" I cry, throwing myself at him. I catch myself before I can touch him, causing myself to slap down in the pool of blood. "Vander, Oh God! Damn it, wake up!" I shout loud enough to wake my brother, along with Claudia and Mouse.

"What – oh God." Claudia propels herself off the ground to kneel in the pool of Gerrit's innards. "What the Hell happened?"

"His throat was slit!" Vander cries, coming up behind me, along with Mouse.

"Gerrit, Gerrit, can you hear me?" I touch his cheek, stroking the blood away from his skin. It looks like he is crying blood, red tears. I am crying real tears and I don't know why.

His head moves slightly side-to-side, his clear eyes wide with pain and tears. I grab my jacket where it still lays ruffled on the forest floor, stuffing it under his head. The crimson substance is streaming down his neck, along with true tears now.

"Shhh, I'm going to make it better." I stroke back his long hair from his eyes so I can see his face. I can see his soul in his pupils, reflected in the glassy pools, and I lean down and kiss his cheek.

"Irina, leave him alone." Mouse kneels down beside me, her beady eyes getting caught in the beam of my flashlight. "It's all you can do." Her face is surprisingly compassionate, knowing.

"No. I won't leave him." I slip my hand into Gerrit's. He has been my friend, it is time for me to be there for him.

"The killer's close by, Irina." Vander kneels alongside Mouse and puts a hand on my shoulder. Make him comfortable, that is all I can think. "Stay close."

"Gerrit." I take his chin in my hands, focusing his blank, staring eyes on me. "Who. Attacked. You."

"I – I –" he chokes out, his throat gurgling. "I-RI-N-" he takes a breath, sighing heavily with a throaty rasp. "Ir – ina."

"I'm here, I'm here." I promise, stroking his bloody hair back. "Shh, tell me who did this to you and I. Will. Kill. Them."

He coughs, looking up to me. His soul, his sweet soul, is swimming in his eyes, I can always tell when this happens. "Irina-"

"What? Just tell me. Gerrit." I plead, my eyes welling with tears. He copies my actions with the waterworks.

"I – didn't…" he hacks again, drowning in his own blood. "I didn't ever – kill anyone."

"Shh." I wipe his tears away with my palm. "I know you didn't."

He sighs, like he is finally happy that I know. That the entire nation of Panem knows that he never shed one single speck of blood that wasn't his own. He is just a boy, trying to survive like the rest of us.

"Gerrit." Vander whispers.

"I'll – be –" he smiles gently, his fingers growing weak in mine. I grip on tightly, not wanting to let him go. "Good. I will."

And then his body is slack, his eyes unseeing, his chest unmoving. A cannon sounds in the distance, the signal of his death.

"No." I whisper, just under my breath. My next voice is found in a loud scream. "NO!"

"Irina." Vander puts both his hands on my shoulders, pulling me up in this way. I am rigid, so stiff, hardly moving. "He's not in pain now."

"Let _GO _of me!" I push him aside, and he topples into Mouse. She catches him, pushing him back up onto his feet. "Don't _touch _me, don't put your _hands_ on me."

"Irina." Claudia says quietly now. "Irina, you couldn't do anymore."

"Is that what you want?" I scream towards the heavens. I hope the cameras are all on me, all trained on the tears streaming down my face. "You let some _monster_ kill an innocent boy! He didn't do anything, and you let him _die_!"

This is followed by a wide array of swear words I learned from my father, some picked up from school, and others I make up myself.

"Stop it!" Mouse cries, watching me. I must be acting like a crazy person, but I don't care. I take a knife out of my vest, luckily I pull out one of the bigger ones, and squeeze it hard in my fist. "Vander, don't let her hurt anyone!"

"She's not going to hurt someone." I hear my brother, and my face burns red with anger, my vision clouding crimson. "She needs to blow this off. Just – let her."

Let me, indeed. I plunge into the woods, cracking branches. Thorns burry themselves into my skin, drawing blood, but I don't care.

"Come out! Come out, you killer! Face me!" I yell, screaming, my face boiling. My whole body is on fire, burning, engulfed in flames. I _am_ anger. "Are you hiding? Are you afraid of me? Is that it? Kill me! Let's just see if you can!"

The woods cry back at me, like they are mourning too. The branches make hollow windy noises in the trees, and there is a far-away howl in the distance, possibly some sort of wolf. A bird flaps from its nest up above me, a big black one. I recognize it immediately, it is a crow, a big ebony one, with rumpled feathers that are falling out with mange. He caws, and a few feathers rain down in the dim, early morning darkness, landing in the woods.

One of the feathers lands near me, and I pick it up, looking at it close up in the dark. It is ruffled and stuck together in spots, beautiful all the same. I put it in my pocket.

Suddenly, I remember a nursery rhyme in one of my books as a child. One my mother used to tell me. I liked it so much; Vander taught me how to recite it word-for-word.

_One for sorrow,_

_Two for mirth,_

_Three for a wedding,_

_Four for a birth,_

_Five for laughing,_

_Six for crying,_

_Seven for sickness,_

_Eight for dying,_

_Nine for silver,_

_Ten for gold,_

_Eleven for a secret that's never been told._

For some reason, this pushes me over the edge, the single, lone crow. Sorrow. Sorrow as the hovercraft takes Gerrit's body, taking him away forever. Forever to be buried in a simple wooden box, to not be thought about once again.

"Thank you." I whisper, my voice quivering. "I won't forget you. I promise."

"Irina." Vander is there, carefully picking his way through the thicket of thorns and poking branches. "Irina, are you alright?"

As soon as he is standing near me, I allow myself to collapse on my knees. My body shakes with sobs, vibrating with quakes and shivers. He kneels down beside me and wraps his arms around my body.

"Look who's back." Claudia looks up cautiously from the small fire she is making. She is toasting my loaf of bread from yesterday, carefully folding pieces of dried meat in between the slices to make sandwiches. I wipe my ears with fury, plopping down next to her. She hands me a sandwich, and I take a small nibble. It is warm, and I take a larger bite.

"Are you alright, Irina?" Mouse asks quietly from her corner of the clearing we've made. We are still uneasy here, us girls. Though we are Careers and we are strong and able, the presence of men seem to make us more comfortable. With Edwin still gone, Vander is the only one left. I choke on the thought.

"I'm fine." I bring my knees up to my chest, playing with my bread. "I have a question, Mouse."

She raises her eyebrows, for the first time, responding to the name I have given her.

"Don't be offended." I peel the crust away from my thick slice of doughy bread.

"I'll do my utmost not to be." She rolls her eyes. "My _name_ is Mouse, how much worse can you get?"

I set my sandwich down and watch Claudia chew, sitting next to Vander. "Do you think Edwin killed Gerrit?"

It is getting easier to say his name. Though he will always remind me of the black crow. I feel the feather poking against my skin in my thin jacket.

"Irina, I don't know. I don't think so. He's very arrogant. He would not have been smart enough to escape without being seen. He would've wanted a fight." She sighs, sadly. I can tell she misses her district partner.

"Who is it?" I ask. "Who killed him off I mean."

"Do you think it could be Julia? Or Terrin?" Claudia asks, looking to Vander.

"Possibly. I know that it can't be Iris. She's long gone, probably in the other direction." Vander scratches his chin. I notice his face still looks clean-shaven, strangely, without its usual blond scruff. I wonder if they put something in his skin to keep his facial hair from growing.

"Maybe it's her." I shrug. But something tells me she went in a different direction. But that feeling that someone is watching me can't seem to go away.

"I don't know." Claudia shrugs. "But I want to hunt."

Thought the forest is not near as menacing as looks at night, it is still scary-looking. There are still barbs stuck in my skin from my morning "run" through the woods that I have yet to pick out, but right now I choose to polish my knives.

"Let's go, then." Vander suggests, pulling himself up off of the ground. "Do you think we could-"

Suddenly, there is a rustling in the brush. I pull my knife out, aiming it in the general direction, and I feel the constant quiver of arrows on my back. The bow is slipped around the straps of the quiver, to be used if necessary. They are Gerrit's.

Claudia readies her club, and Mouse gets her mace ready to swing. Vander steadies his sword.

"Don't shoot!" a familiar voice sounds in the branches. Mouse is the first to drop her weapon.

"Edwin!" she cries, overjoyed. She throws her arms around his neck, and he hugs her back.

"Mouse, get a hold of yourself." He shakes his head. "God."

"How was hunting?" Vander stiffens, still un-trusting of Edwin, especially considering he has abandoned us once already.

"No kills." He nods. But he reaches into the brush and grabs something. "But look what I found."

**T'sup, homies? New chapter, finally! Please review, because I would really like that, and spread the word about the new chapter! Thanks, and hope to post a new chapter soon! I don't own the crow poem by the way, I don't want to get sued saying I do…. So, thanks! Don't forget to review please!**

**Xoxo**

**Rainbow**


	16. Sixteen: The Lure

**Hey guys! I've been gone for quite a while, haha I wonder if you three readers out there are happy I'm back? Hope you like the new chapter, and fortunately I have most of the rest of the story planned. I want to see which tributes you guys are most into, so in the comments box, tell me who's team you are on! Irina, Vander, Iris, Claudia, Edwin, Mouse, Brutus? Any of the characters, tell me what you think and why… Also, tell me who you think should be in the final four, obviously one being Irina. I want to see who is the most popular here, so thanks! Tell me what you think!**

**Chapter Sixteen**

We all crane our heads in the dim light to make out Edwin pulling a whimpering figure from behind a clump of spiny branches. The girl is held up by the scruff of her neck, nearly off the ground in Edwin's strong grip. Her name comes to my mind, Julia, and suddenly she has a face as well, small and all scrunched in the middle of her face with a turned up nose and eyes positioned close to each other.

"You brought us a snack?" Claudia spits on her club and polishes a gleaming spike hher. I want to protect her. Because apparently I am like that now.

"No." Edwin rolls his eyes and at the same time tries to push Mouse away from him; she is still clinging to his arm and blubbering with happiness. He seems a tad disgusted with her. "I brought us bait."

"Bait?" Vander leans on Claudia's shoulder and she seems generally pleased with the attention and affection from him. "For what? Are you insane, Edwin? She's just a girl."

"Please." There is a soft whimper from Julia and the single word emerges from her chapped, white lips. "Irina, please."

Why must all the weak ones choose me? My heart thuds for her, reminded of Gerrit already. "No." I tell myself, and push the thoughts from my mind. I am not allowed to think of him. Not even one bit.

"Vander, just kill her and get it over with." Claudia leans against my brother, rolling her glassy, cruel eyes. I clench my fists, wondering how someone with her uniqueness and moxie could be so narrow minded and mean.

"No, please!" Julia repeats he same words again, but this time with such an urgency that it startles me. I step between the little girl and my brother.

"Irina." Mouse regains her voice, turning to face me. "Irina, what the hell are you doing?"

"Um-" I fish for words that won't come. "Like Edwin said. We can use her – to lure the others out of hiding. She could be out – bait."

"Not a bad idea." Mouse shrugs and motions to Edwin. "Let her down. She should probably eat if we want to keep her alive."

Edwin drops the little girl, and she crumples up on the ground. Before anyone can grab her harshly and force her up to choke her, I take her by the sleeve and help her up. Not to show too much tenderness, but just enough to make her feel slightly better. She leans into me, though I gently shove her away, onto a log away from all the blood. Though the hovercraft managed to pick up all of Gerrit's pieces, his blood is still a red blanket of liquid all over the ground. She seems horrified by that fact, and I distract her by offering her a thick slice of bread. She takes it and nibbles on the edge of it, almost timid to eat our food.

"We need to head back to the Cornucopia." Vander sits down next to me and puts his arm around my shoulders. I lean into him and inhale his scent that has somehow stayed with him in the Arena, the sort of special lemony smell that no one in the world can duplicate. "If we're going to use her." He turns to Julia to finish his sentence. "No offense. It will lure the others out of hiding."

"We could always just torture it out of her." Mouse waves her weapon tauntingly, probably imagining the best way to slit her throat with the least amount of blood spilled.

Julia cries out and chokes on her bread. I whack her on her back and she hacks up her chewed dough. While she recovers, I shoot Mouse an evil glare and she shrugs. I sling my chest pack over my shoulders and strap it on, packing up my supplies.

We trek back to the Cornucopia in the hot-beyond-hot hot sun. When we begin to get closer to the huge golden horn, I can make it out by its distinct golden sparkle, I can smell the salty scent of the ocean next to it. The waves look so inviting, so lovely, like they are calling to me. I imagine the water to be cool, refreshing, perfect.

I dump my backpack inside of the Cornucopia, keeping a close eye on Julia, and offer her a drink of water. She takes it, as usual, looking like she is going to cry. I shrug and take a heavy swig from the canteen myself, draining the bottle.

"Swimming anyone?" Claudia leans against the side of the Cornucopia, stripping her boots off already. Her legs are whiter than the rest of her body, her skin a deep, sexy tan. She wiggles her toes in the sand, leaping around at how hot the grains are heated by the sun.

"Swimming?" Edwin raises his eyebrows. "Clauds, this is the Hunger Games. I don't think that we have that much time to take a refreshing dip in the ocean."

"Why not?" Mouse is busy stripping as well, her boots already off and she is quick to peel her jumpsuit away. If the parts of her body that I _can _see are a disgrace, then I can only imagine what the rest of her looks like. But Vander seems quite happy to go swimming with Claudia, who is standing in the shadow of the Cornucopia so she doesn't burn her feet in the sand. She is in her undershorts and white t-shirt, though that doesn't offer much cover-up for her sleek, perfect body. Her blond hair adds even more edge to her slick body and foxlike face.

"Well." He shrugs. "In my mind's eye, this was sort of a fight to the death, but if you want to play lifeguard, Vander." Edwin scowls.

"I will, thank you." My brother is already down to his undershorts as well, showing off his fine muscles. Claudia s mooning all over him, flaunting her own curves and twirling her hair with her fingers. I roll my eyes a bit more than necessary.

"Are you getting in, Irina?" Vander dances on the hot sand like he is being forced to walk on flaming coals. "The water's pretty cool. You look sunburnt."

I scowl in his direction, cursing at the girls mooning over his muscles. "I'm not a swimming type of person. I'll stay and watch Julia."

It isn't that I don't like swimming, I actually do quite a bit, considering the few times I have actually been in District 2. But when the others removed their boots, it reminded me of Brutus' knife tucked safely away, snug next to my ankle, and I don't think I could hide that from all of them and the cameras almost constantly trained on our faces. The Capitol almost never misses anything that goes on in the Games. It is a miracle that they haven't found out yet and blasted me to smithereens in some "freak" explosion.

"Suit yourself, sis." He runs off into the sand as Claudia chases him towards the water, yelping at the hot sand. I uncap another canteen of water and sip it angrily. I toss a canteen at Julia and she jumps on it like a hound, like I might be ready to take it away from her at any moment. I shrug as she sucks on the nozzle like it is her life support. She probably hasn't had a drink since before we all were tossed in this Arena. Which makes me think where there would be other places to find water in the Arena.

"Do you know if there are any cactuses around?" I speak to Julia directly for the first time since we officially met, thinking of how some sorts of cactuses contain drinkable water. She looks up from her guzzling clueless, like a deer caught in headlights. She slowly lowers her bottle, flabbergasted that I would even talk to her.

"I saw some when we were coming back here." She answers me, and her voice is surprisingly mellow, though her tonguing is flavored with fear. "You didn't see them?"

"I wasn't exactly thinking about it then." I shrug, leaning down to scratch my leg through the fabric of my jumpsuit. I somehow wish I were swimming, having at least one fun moment in the Arena, instead of babysitting our bait. Though I do feel bad for her. "I was watching you remember? Can't have our little lure running away, can we?"

"All of you are much faster runners than me, I promise." She sighs with such a sadness, like she has given up on being faster than anyone, at least smarter. I wonder to myself what she was doing when Edwin found her. Was she trying to sneak up on him, or was she just being stupid and sleeping out in the open. I wouldn't blame her, the forest was a bit too scary, even for me.

"Will you take me to the cactuses?" I ask her, crossing my arms over my chest. It somehow makes _me _angry that she has given up already. If it were me, I would run away from myself right now. I'm not so sure I wouldn't let her go, she is so small. But maybe smarter than we give her credit for. "I just want to see if I can get any water out of them."

"Of course." She tells me in her small voice that I am slowly becoming accustomed to.

"Great. Probably best we go when you won't have to be watched like a hawk-" I motion to the rest of the Careers on the beach, splashing and laughing in the waves. It is strange, almost like we aren't in the Hunger Games anymore.

"Are you going to – hurt me?" she asks, watching me pick one of my better knives to cut open any cactuses we find.

"Not unless I'm told to." I shrug, cleaning the knife on my clothes.

"Do you always do what they tell you?" the tramps after me and my long stride in the hot sun, being much shorter than me.

"I don't do what anyone says." I growl back at her, whipping my dark hair around to form a curtain for my face.

"Then why don't you kill me?" she looks up to me, walking in my footsteps. She doesn't seem to be scared when she asks, only curious.

"I don't know." I say, quietly now. This little girl, this mere child, has brought me down like this. "I just don't know."

We are quiet for a while, just walking in the hot sun.

"I think these are the cactuses." Julia finally talks when we reach a scattered patch of shrub-looking plants with hairy-looking spikes. They don't look like any pictures of cactuses that I have ever seen, but if I can have the accomplishment to find the water, it will have to do.

"Hopefully." I kneel down with my knife, Julia with me and start to cut at the tough skin. I keep getting the spikes in my hand, which hurts and I wince over and over again. I finally get a small hole open to see through, thankfully, and I lean back, sweating.

"Take a look, would you?" I pant and turn to Julia. She nods and leans forward, looking into the hole.

"I don't see any." She clears her throat. "Maybe –"

Suddenly, a piercing scream erupts from her mouth. A sound so loud, so terribly high-pitched and ear-shattering that grab her by the shoulders and yank her back.

I choke on my own tongue. Her entire face is covered in beetle-like bugs, gnawing through her skin, her face, her bones, her entire _body_. I scream, throwing her back as the bugs crawl up my arm, and I feel them burrowing into my fingers. It will only be a matter of time before they reach my brain.

A cannon booms in the distance.

** Okay, so PUH-LEASE tell me what you thought of chapter 16. As I said before you read this chapter, please tell me your favorite characters, I am having a contest on the last player to be left in the final four! So I need to know which you guys like best, so I can begin planning the last few chapters! So tell me who it is you like and why you like them, I must know! Anyway, I would also like to know which other characters you like that aren't tributes, so just tell me your thoughts in the reviews! Thanks and please continue reading!**

**Xoxo**

**RainbowTeeth**


	17. WHOOPS!

**Whoops, I forgot to mention a special thanks to TheKnifeThrowingExpert for helping me come up with the bugs-in-the-cactus ordeal…. So this is a whole page devoted to you, hunnie, thanks honey bunches! Oh, and visit her page! She's awesome and a really good writer!**

**Xoxo**

**RainbowTeeth**


	18. Seventeen: The Missing Piece

**Heyo again guys, thanks so much for the reviews I got, I really appreciate it! I am still waiting for the votes on who you would like to see in the final four! Of course, as I mentioned, Irina being one of them. So in the comments box, just tell me what you think of you favorite character and why should they win. I like to hear about any character of mine in general, so misewell toss those comments in your review as well! Happy reading, and I can't wait to hear what you guys think. So far Vander is winning, though I need another person…. Hmmm….**

Chapter Seventeen

The cannon boom is like the last thread being cut from my existence. Like every part of me, every atom is one thread, one tiny little string, and the hand of someone much greater, much larger in existence has taken a mighty, sharp knife and slashed it through almost all of the strings holding me, suspended over a dark realm of nothingness. And when that cannon sounded, it was the aftershock, the last thing to tip me over the edge, the vibration that broke the last thread that was keeping me tethered to this earth. This Arena.

And then I am spiraling, spinning around in the blackness. It is like I am being stretched out, the spinning is making me expand to each end, like I am being flattened into a log strand of pasta. My heart thuds against my chest, slamming unnaturally against my ribs, and I have the strongest sense I have ever had in my entire life to vomit, to throw up anything left in my belly, including the walls of my stomach.

But I can't vomit, this is darkness. This is nothing. This is a spiraling, never-ending pit of black. I am blind and weak and I am probably dead. The images of the beetles, boring into my hand, soon to reach my organs, my brain, are still fresh. I image their greedy, gnawing little black bodies quickly surrounding my heart as it tries to beat and continue to shudder in slow, stuttering pulses. And then they will reach my lungs, and I won't be able to breathe. And my brain will be next. Then I won't even be able to think about what is happening to me any longer.

"I've never been afraid until I met you." My own words spin clockwise around in my head, jumbling up to make random spelling patterns, and then sliding into a sentence again. My own words to Brutus.

"Please don't let yourself die." Brutus' voice answers me in my mind, this time his own quotes. An image of his beautiful face comes to me along with the scrambled words, and I try to look into his dark eyes, all in my mind. "_Please_."

And then there was the kiss. That kiss, oh. My mind, my messed up, crazy, dying mind lets me re-live that entire kiss over again, the taste of his lips on mine, yes I can taste him again. His smell, his smell I never thought I would get to experience ever again. His arms around me, yes. I can feel it all once more.

"I can't break the rules." My voice whispers.

"But I can." Brutus' words fill my head. My body. My entire being. "But I can. But I can. But. I. Can. But _I _can."

If my hands would work, if I could _see_, I would be grabbing, covering my ears to drown out his voice, repeating the sentence over and over again. Just as my brain is about to fall apart –-

There is his voice again. Only two words, the last words he said to me. Like a whisper in my ear, a wisp of wind whipping by, like it is hardly there.

"Fight Strong."

And then I can feel my body, truly _feel _it. My limbs are under my control, my brain feels like it is pumping steam to work correctly again, if that is even possible. My chest is moving up and down rapidly with the intake and outtake of air. I am me again, I am Irina Radke once more!  
And then I feel again the pain my hand. The feeling of something going right through me, something with teeth that I can feel moving and squirming and pushing under the things under my skin.

And I scream. I scream and scream and scream. Or at least I think I do, to me it only sounds like a desperate yelp scrunched down my throat with pain and fear.

My eyes slowly swim into a swooping focus, the sky spinning around in a spiral that reverses direction every few seconds. I cry out again, somewhat with the confidence that I can _see_ again! There is – there is Vander with his dancing, moving blond hair, and Mouse with her untidy tumbleweed for hair, Claudia, who looks quite wet, I can't place my finger on why, Edwin with his long bangs hanging in his face. I can place all of them.

"Vander, she's conscious!" someone yells, but I can't tell who, for my ears feel as if they have been plugged with cotton and my ear drums have literally been beaten on. My heartbeat is in my head, an unstable BA-BOOM BA-BOOM that never quite matches up with any other particular pulse.

"Vander." I moan, feeling even more nauseous than before, if that is even possible that it is more than before. "Vander, get Mom, I'm going to throw up."

"What did she say?" a very loud, gravely girl's voice hurts my ears when she talks, and Mouse leans down over me and moves my hair aside for some reason. "Vander, she said something."

"Nothing Mouse." Vander snaps back at her, and he is shoving her aside. "Irina, Irina, can you hear me. Oh dear _GOD_, please don't be dead or I will _kill _you."

Vander is crying. I can't remember a time when my brother has last cried.

"My hand, my _hand_." I moan, groaning in the intense pain. This is the most pain I have ever been in. Ever.

"Vander, they're in her hand!" Claudia, I now recognize her voice, yells, cringing back. "Edwin, go get some water, hurry! God, before they get her –"

Am already writhing in pain, eyes staring wide open like they are about to pop out of their sockets. I let out a piercing scream, one that can only be caused by the writhing of tiny beetles under your skin, in your very _bones_.

"Cut it off! Cut it off, Vander, cut it _OFF_!" I scream as loud as I can at him, my vision focusing in and out over and over again. It is like my vision is viewing a scene underwater, blurry, like a scratch is across my image. All I feel is the pain.

"Cut what off, Irina! What do you want me to do!" Vander screams back, unsure.

"Cut them out, just cut them out!"

He knows what I am asking now, knows the task I expect him to complete. He must do it, he _must _get the demons out of my body, or they will destroy all essence of Irina Radke.

"I – I can't!" he cries, and I feel my body writhe on the hot, hard ground, even more than it was before. The bugs are traveling up my fingers, they will be to my wrist in no time.

"Please, _please_!" I sob, and my hand vibrates with the bodies of the critters inside of it. "Vander! If you don't do it, I _will_!"

I can see Vander, pushing his fist into his lips like he always does when he is stressed or under a lot of pressure. He throws sand in another direction in anger, trying not to focus on the hot tears soaking my face, the hydration I desperately need draining out of my body as the pain only grows worse. I am choking on the intense amount of pain now, ready to vomit.

And I do, I roll over, shaking, in the sand, throwing up everything in my stomach. All of the food and mostly water I have consumed comes out in the sand as I grip onto Vander's knee for support. My head plops back in the sand, in my own pool of vomit, and with that smell in my nose, I moan to my brother, begging now.

"Please." I gasp out.

And so he raises the weapon over his head, the same knife I used to cut open the cactus in the first place, before I let Julia look in first to get killed. I see the glint of it in the sun, the reflection, and I see my face.

Sunburnt. That is the first thing I see. That I am red, the sun has transformed my pale skin into a mask of magenta. I have always done a good job of protecting my sensitive skin in District 2, but I guess now for the Hunger Games, I have been so caught up in killing people that I haven't had any time to give it a thought. Under my eyes, across my cheekbones, my ears burnt to a crisp.

My entire body is shaking. I am cringing, holding my hand away from me, like I am keeping the bugs away from my heart instinctively.

Vander grabs my wrist, pinning it to the ground. The knife comes down, in one quick swift swipe.

I see my hand lying on the ground. And I go under again to be with Brutus.

When I wake up, I know immediately things are different.

I am inside a golden dome, I see that. It must be the Cornucopia. And I am very cold. Very _very _cold in fact. I roll over, cringing at how sore I am. I see a body above me, one that is standing over my own body.

"Vander." I croak out, groaning.

"Irina." He bends down hurriedly to my side, stroking my hair back. "Irina, are you alright?"

"Mmm." I croak out, my words getting caught in my throat. "It's cold."

He pauses for a second, his face becoming grim. "Irina. It's snowing."

**Tell me what you think, and still wanting to hear your opinions on your favorite character! I would like to know, so just type it into the little review box down there ! THANKS AND I WOULD APPRICIATE IT! Just so you know, Vander is the top winner so far! Almost to 50 reviews!**

**Xoxo**

**RainbowTeeth**

**p.s. I know this chapter is pretty short, but I wanted to end it here. Sorry if you're disappointed, me three viewers! Kidding…. **


	19. Eighteen: The Gift

**Hey guys, I don't know if you noticed, but I changed the description for the story. Not a big deal, but if that is how you find it to read it or anything, I don't want it to be confusing. Anyway, still having the contest on the people left in the final four, so please tell me what you think if you haven't already. That would be awesome! Hope you enjoy the next chapter, and I think reviews are awesome. We got past 50, wooo!**

Chapter Eighteen

"Snowing?" I blink my eyes a few times, confused at Vander's words. "It can't be snowing."

"Irina." He sits down next to me, stroking his hand across my forehead, brushing my dirty, black hair away from my skin. "Are you feeling alright?"

How can he be worrying about me when it is _snowing_? I know that the Hunger Games Arenas can change drastically in a moment, like the daylight only lasting an hour, or a flood overtaking most of the land in minute. But snow? Last thing I knew, it was a barren desert. Now can it truly be tundra?

"I'm fine." I croak, moving my stiff body. My back cracks, and I wince at the sharp zing of pain that travels up my spine.

"Your hand." He tenderly traces his hand over my hair again. "Is it alright?"

My hand? I hold up both of them above me, as I am lying on my back. My right one –

It all comes back to me now. It returns like a flash of light, or more like a punch in the face. The cactus, the bugs, the fainting, seeing Brutus, Vander sawing off my hand – my _hand_.

And with these memories, the pain comes too. The intense pain that is so severe, I choke and hack up whatever is in my belly. The thing is, there is nothing in there, nothing for me to throw up, and I am left choking on my own saliva, dry heaving. My right hand is nothing. It is a stump-like thing, wrapped in bloody gauze and bandages, though I can't tell if I even have any fingers left. Maybe I just have a wrist. Maybe I don't.

"Rina, Rina, shh." Vander comforts me, his hand on my back. I am still coughing, spluttering at how much it hurts, my little stump. "Calm down, you're going to hurt yourself."

"I already lost my hand!" I yell, squinting my eyes in pain. "How am I going to hurt myself more?!"

Vander doesn't reply, just continues to rub the small of my back in a little circle. I suddenly wish that I was asleep again, that I wasn't feeling the pain right now.

Sometime in my misery, there are more voices added to my brothers. I recognize Mouse's voice, and Claudia's and Edwin's. They all seem to be generally concerned about me, even Mouse.

"Is she alright?" Claudia's voice asks, farther away than Vander's.

"I think she's in shock." He replies. "And in a lot of pain."

In shock indeed. I am beginning to hear Brutus again, his soft, silky voice in my ear. "Irina, are you alright? Irina, please look at me."

Oh, that is not Brutus; it is Vander, my brother. I open my eyes to him, his swimming features that my brain keeps rearranging around his face. Right now, his eyes are where his mouth should be, and his nose is on his forehead.

"It hurts." I try to speak through my gritted teeth. My jaw is tightened so much that I am afraid the bones are going to crack.

"I know it does." There is a gentle, yet gravely, voice in my ear, and I make out Mouse. Is it true that she is holding my hand. "You blacked out as soon as – Vander did it."

"I want to see it." I hiss through my teeth. Mouse looks at my brother who is shaking his head. I can only imagine how much stress he much be under; I know he loves me, as much as I love him, and I am in such pain.

"No." Vander looks to the others then back to me. "You really don't, Irina."

"Yes I do." I struggle to sit up, and he pulls my into a position so I can lean my head and back against something. "I'll never know how much damage has been done unless I get a good look at it."

Claudia raises her eyebrow from her position leaning against the Cornucopia's mouth. I can see she is wearing one of the winter coats we discovered on our first day in the Arena, her small body wrapped up in the fluffy article of clothing to keep warm. It makes me wonder how many days I had been passed out. Long enough for it to get cold enough for winter-wear.

"How long was I – " I begin to say, but Edwin answers me before I can finish my sentence.

"Two days." He polishes the very tip of his sword on the edge of his shirt.

Two days. I mentally calculate how many days that makes in the Arena. The bloodbath the first day, with the death of Gerrit on the first night (push those thoughts out of my head), Edwin found Julia, and then it was the second day. On the end of the second day was when it happened, the incident. Two more days. It has been four days so far in the Arena.

"Is it still – bleeding?" I motion to my hand, it being too painful to lift up on my own. I look at it again, attempting to look around the bandages, to see what my hand may look like. I see a bloody stump in my mind, the bone exposed at the wrist, poking out like a worm emerging from an apple. Suddenly, I get a sickening thought; what did they do with my corpse hand?

"Yes, but not as much as it has been. I've been changing your bandages twice every day while you were under." Vander states proudly. "I was just about to re-dress your wound when you woke up."

"I still want to see it." I demand, thought my voice is still weak. I wish for comforting arms, ones that will not be seen on live television. My brother knows I need this, though he will never do it when the others are around. Especially not Claudia.

"Suit yourself." Edwin shrugs and begins to strut over to the pile of weapons we stacked in the corner before we went on our trek to the black forest. "It's pretty nasty, Irina."

"I don't care." I hold my chin high. "Unwrap it, Vander."

My brother looks at me doubtfully, but gently slides in closer and begins to unwrap the bandages from my hand, or rather from my stump. I believe all of them expect me to cringe away, shut my eyes, not want to see what my limb has become, but I keep my head locked straight at it, never blinking.

"You're sure?" Vander raises his thick, blond eyebrows before peeling away the last of the under-bandages that are the bloodiest.

"Do it already." I scowl, my old self again. I wish I had someone's hand to squeeze, and like magic, Mouse's hand is there in mine, and I am free to squeeze it. Her palm is layered with callouses and warts, but still she is there. Like she understands. I feel bad for getting everyone to call her Mouse all of a sudden.

Vander peels away the last of the bandages, and I am left to see the disgusting mess that my hand is. At first, I thought I would be a warrior, I would hold my stump high and brag about my battle wounds. I would die knowing that I put up a good fight, I lost a hand.

But instead, I am only able to cry.

The hot tears stream down my face, running over my sunburnt cheeks. It stings the peeling skin, though I hardly notice this while I am staring at my hand. It is all I can stare at. It is all everyone can stare at. The cameras are probably all focused in on it as well.

It is not a stump, there is no large bone sticking from the mutilated skin, but this is almost worse than I imagined. It is like my fingers, or what little is left of them, are all at different lengths. The tip of my thumb is gone up to my nail, my three middle fingers, are gone, up to where I might wear a ring. My pinky is almost completely gone, and this is where the most of the bones I can see show. It is all bleeding, but not the crisp, bright red blood you would think you would see coming out of a wound of this magnitude. It is more black, a sticky ebony substance.

"What – is – that?" I mumble and stutter around my tears. Vander leans forward, careful not to touch my hand, or what's left of it, and wipes a few of my tears away.

"We think it's the venom." Claudia replies, sliding down the side of the Cornucopia to take a seat on the ground. She is still close to the mouth of the Cornucopia, sitting next to the intense flurries coming down outside. The Careers won't be hunting until the snow stops. "You know from the bugs."

"We tried putting antibiotic on it, but that's the only thing we could find that might work. And water, but nothing helps." Mouse replies. Her hand has slowly retreated from my uninjured one, but she is still hovering near to me. I have all new views on the Mouse.

"It stings." I whisper, suddenly feeling the severity of the venom. I can't help imagining the black stinging substance traveling all the way up my arm, into all of my blood flow.

"We could put some more antibiotic on it, but I don't think it helps." Vander looks at my injury, cringing. I know he is wishing he could do something for me. Once, we the two of us were small, I fell on a knife and ripped open my knee in training. It wasn't a terrible injury, and I was past the "boo-boo" stage, but there was a lot of blood. I was 13, he a burly, much-larger-than-me 14 year old and he scooped me right up and carried me home. Of course, my father was angry with us for skipping out on training, and I was fussing for Vander to put me down and let me put a bandage on it. He made me sit on the counter, and he cleaned it for me, stopped the blood and made sure I was patched up better than I would have done for myself. I cringe at the memory. I will miss Vander when I sacrifice myself so he can live.

"Anything." I tell him, clenching my teeth again. The pain is becoming more and more noticeable, even more intense by now.

Edwin tosses Vander a small, yellow tube, and he squirts some of the milky serum onto his finger.

"Do you want me to do it?" he asks, and I shake my head. He wipes the serum onto my own fingers and I lock my jaw, smearing the medicine onto my wound.

It hurts more than it helps. So much so, I begin to cry again. My eyes close by themselves, and I lean my head back against the Cornucopia wall.

The next few hours are some of the most painful moments in my entire life, both physically and emotionally. I keep reaching for things with my clubbed hand, which brings on a whole new wave of pain. All of us are cooped inside the Cornucopia, none of us ready to venture out into the heavy snowstorm just yet to hunt. Claudia tells me the snow is almost past her knees now, and the wind is cold enough to blow you back a few feet. Whatever the reason, the Gamemakers are going to make it snow for a while. It is possible it is pushing the other tributes in the black forest together to fight. If the others are still out there or if it is even snowing in that area.

"Anyone hear that?" Edwin asks after a while. I open my eyes to him standing near the Cornucopia's mouth, draped in another of the winter coats. By now, I am covered up with two of them. The walls of the Cornucopia, being metal, make it even colder in this shell of a structure.

"Hear what?" Vander looks up from his dinner, a bit of beef warmed up with one of the smoking warmers that come in the 35 or so portable meals we have stored in the back of the Cornucopia. Mouse had heated me up one earlier, a sort of chicken spread wrapped in a tortilla shell. I give my dry, but sweet, cookie that came with the meal to her as a thank you.

"That beeping." He puts one of his furry hoods up and sticks his head out of the Cornucopia mouth a small ways. He suddenly pounces on something, and runs back in to us with the parcel in his arms.

It is a silver parachute, the package sponsor's gifts come in, and it is attached to a silver, metal box, which is the thing that is beeping; it is a locator.

"Ooh, what's it for?" Claudia jumps up from her spot leaning into Vander's leg. "Open it, let's see."

Edwin snaps off the metal lid and hands it to her, peering inside. I myself am wondering what is in it.

"Looks like some sort of salve." He holds it to his nose and inhales. "Ugh, it smells bad. I think it's for you, Irina."

Claudia brings it to me, and I peer in at the yellow, chunky salve. I stick my hand in it, my nose scrunching at how unpleasant it feels, and come up with a goopy bit on my fingers. Vander helps me unwrap the fresher bandages, and I smear the goop on the wound.

It hurts more than it ever has at first, like it is on fire, like the stump is shriveling up.

But then: _relief._

Utter relief, like the pain is all gone. I don't even care how bad the salve smells, or how goopy and disgusting it is, it is making me forget there is even a wound in the first place.

"Rina, look." Vander pulls a piece of paper out from the side of the box of pain killer. I notice it is slightly damp, from where it touched the snow, but still readable. Being respectful, he hands me the card in my good hand.

It reads:

**Rina,**

**Apply twice daily. Do not over-use, and for God's sake, please try to be careful.**

**B**

**So what did you think? Please review and let me know. Oh, and also don't forget to vote for your favorite characters so I can plan from the final four. Thanks you guys, you're awesome, and I love all my viewers!  
Xoxo**

**Rainbow**

**P.S. Sorry that this chapter may be boring, just tell me whatcha think. Hope to upload soon. x 1000000**


	20. Nineteen: The Blowing

**Hey guys! Once again, I would like to thanks all my viewers. You guys mean a lot to me and it makes me feel good people are actually reading my story. The new chapter is hopefully more eventful than the last few. I know some may argue and say Irina's hand was actually eventful, but now it is going to be even better…. Anyway, if you haven't already, don't forget to vote for your favorite tribute. Thanks! Love you guys!**

Chapter Nineteen

We are trapped in the Cornucopia for two days, huddled together in our furry winter coats; each of us gets two. Edwin digs out a thermometer from one of the packs that the other tributes left at the Cornucopia, which reads below zero. I am sure it doesn't exactly help the matter that we are surrounded by metal. My entire body quakes from the inside out in rounds of terrible tremors.

I apply the life-saving salve Brutus sent me, keeping the note tucked into my boot, along with his knife. Two presents from him. And the medicine actually is helping with not only the pain, but my bandages are almost always soaked with black venom the yellow goop is extracting from the wound.

Of course, it still hurts, and bleeds more than I can believe. A wound of this magnitude will take more than two days to heal, even with special Capitol medicine that probably cost my mentors a fortune.

All of us hear the cannon. Our heads snap up at the same time, like a domino effect. I lift my head, and then Mouse, who is beside, followed by Vander, Edwin, and Claudia. My brother stands up, tramping to the entrance of the cave-like Cornucopia, where a pile of ice and snow is clumped around the doorway. He pulls up his hood, so it covers his entire head, only his nose and eyes are showing, and peeks out into the snowstorm.

"See anything?" Claudia asks through clattering teeth.

"No one's out there." He ducks back into the golden horn and takes his seat again. If his legs are as stiff and cold as mine, I don't blame him for not wanting to stand up for too long.

We are quiet the rest of the day, besides the heating of precious portable meals, which we use the heating packs to stuff into our sleeves and pants legs, and exchange of food. Everything else we can't heat up is frozen.

When the Capitol Anthem begins to play, with the faces of the dead projected in the sky, all five of us leap to the mouth of the Cornucopia, trying to make out the projection through the blinding snow.

It is Terrin and his District partner. Both the tributes from 8.

"That can't be right." Claudia scoffs, stumbling back into our hiding place. "That boy was so huge. Unless some sort of mutt got them."

Edwin shrugs and leads Mouse back into the safety of the Cornucopia. They quickly huddle back into the heavily lined winter coats, holding in each other's body warmth. Claudia and Vander retreat as well, but I stay, staring at Terrin's distorted picture through the snow. It doesn't make sense. It is snowing for a reason. A mutt didn't kill the two District 8 tributes, of that I am sure. The weather must be a distraction to keep _us_ in, something is going on in the dark forest.

"Irina, come back here." Vander calls for me, and I hesitantly come back to him, holding my mutilated hand to my chest.

He changes the bandages for me; the newest ones are black with the venom still coming out of it, mixed with rust colored blood. I fall asleep, leaned against his side, exhausted.

Sometime much later, hours later, the snow gradually changes to a sleeting rain. It comes down in sheets, warmer sheets, I realize this when I go out to fill a few canteens with the melting snow. It is washing all the white fluff away, like it is no longer needed for whatever reason it was created. It rains until sunrise.

And then, it stops. Not gradual, as the snow changed to rain slowly. This is an abrupt slap of rain against the ground, one last clack of thunder, and then the rain is over. In one last slap of liquid on the sand, it is over.

"It stopped." Claudia stands up, shrugging her coat off. Through-out the night, it has become warmer, something that would never happen in true nature. But in the Hunger Games? It is just the usual.

"Duh." Edwin stands up, leaving his own coat on the ground. I shed mine as well, letting Vander help me up. With my hand, it is hard for me to push myself off the ground. I grin weakly at him, and he ruffles my already-dirty hair.

The five of us exit the horn, our boots sloshing in the excess water at its mouth. I stretch my back and take some time to cringe at my hand; it is throbbing, almost as if it has a heartbeat of its own. I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment and take a shaky deep breath. I cannot imagine a worst pain I have been in.

The first thing I, along with everyone the others, notice is the wind. I have never felt anything like it, this is definitely Gamemaker created. It is powerful, whipping the sand up and down the beach, scattering it into our eyes. I shield my face with my good hand.

"Are we going hunting or what?" Edwin, who is shielding his own eyes, asks, as if there isn't going to be blinding sand with every step we take.

"Are you insane? In case you haven't heard, Mr. Sandman is having a _very_ bad day." Claudia spits out a mouthful of grit and grains, raking her tongue with her fingernails. "And he's decided to take it out on us!"

"If we don't get moving, they'll just send some other horror on us!" he shouts back at her, over the noise of the whipping wind. "We have to go kill someone, or the Capitol will get bored!"  
"How about we kill _you_ then?!" Vander, in his angry voice, screams back. "You seem to be getting on everybody's nerves!"

I duck back into the Cornucopia and slip my knife jacket back on. I am careful to slip my hand through the pocket gingerly, as not to touch the fresh, terribly painful and inflamed skin to anything. It already hurts enough. Mouse is soon beside me, grabbing her own weapon.

"Don't start with me, Radke. I hate you enough already." Edwin warns. I fear this will turn to a brawl, with Edwin dead for that matter if Vander and his component do not resolve it sooner rather than later. "I'm going hunting. It's what my fans want to see."

"_Fans_?" Vander scoffs, rolling his eyes. "Is that all you care about, your _fans_? News flash, Edwin, this is a f_ight to the death_ not reality television! Your only fans are small-minded Capitol citizens that don't have anything better to do than sit on their lazy asses in front of the television all day and watch kids like you and me rip each-other's throats out!"

"Go Vander!" I think to myself. Mouse snorts from beside me.

"I'm going hunting." Edwin turns his snooty nose into the air. "If you're coming or not, I won't wait up."

Claudia runs after Vander as he stalks off behind Edwin angrily. Mouse and I follow few feet, but Vander turns around to face us.

"You two stay behind." He looks at mostly me. "Irina, I don't care what you say, I'm older, and you need to let your hand heal."

"Careers don't sit on a throne and eat chocolate drops." I roll my eyes. "I'm injured, not dead. And you aren't the boss of me, _or_ Mouse."

"Rina, my last nerve is threatening to snap." Vander rubs his hands over his face. He looks tired, older. The Hunger Games does that to you.

"I don't care." I cross my arms, my hand and stump over my chest. "I can take care of myself."

"Apparently not." He scowls back at me, then takes a peak over his shoulder. Edwin is trudging into the sand, Claudia doing her best to stall him and wait for Vander.

"And how is that so?" I stick my tongue on the side of my cheek. I cannot remember the last time I fought with my brother. He has always been my protector, my rock, the one sane person in my life through the struggles of our abusive father and insane mother.

"You're the one who volunteered." His blond hair whips unsteadily in the wind that is growing stronger by the minute. "And I had to come in here and protect you. Just like I always do."

I am shocked he would even bring this up. As if _I _was the one who made him volunteer. I think throughout our lives, growing up together, I made it clear I could defend for myself. I would be winning this thing, if not for _him_ here. Now I owe him his life.

"I can do things by myself, you know." I stubbornly hold my jaw, so I won't get emotional. Vander can see this, he has struck gold on my heart strings. The two of us were always a team, always against our parents, the training, together. Now it is like an emotional bond is broken between us, so suddenly like a snap of a thread.

"Obviously not." He motions to the area around us, the entire Hunger Games Arena. "Look what you've gotten us into, Rina."

"It isn't my fault." I squabble back, my lip quivering. By this time, Mouse looks utterly mortified, caught between the fight of a brother and sister. I suppose the Hunger Games have never seen this before. The Capitol is probably eating it up.

"Yes." Vander shakes his head. "It is."

"No it's –" before I can say "not," something happens. Something so sudden, so powerful, that there is no way it is not Gamemaker created.

A wind, with more strength than a Capitol train throws my backwards, arching my spine high in the air. I feel my spine bend, more cracking of my body as I land in the sand, maybe 80 feet away. I can still see Vander, seemingly unaffected by the wind, it seems to be targeting me and Mouse, nobody else.

"Vander!" I scream, coughing up sand as it flies in my mouth. I can see him running towards me, and Mouse is belly crawling to my rescue. I get sand in my eyes, and can no longer see, though I can tell Mouse is holding onto me so we won't get separated. In case the wind returns.

"Irina!" My brother screams from down the beach.

And then the sand is whipping around Mouse and I, the noise of it so loud I can no longer hear. "Vander!" I try again, but there is only sand in my mouth, choking me.

"Don't let go of me!" Mouse yells beside me. A gust of wind whips us backwards again, stronger and stronger, into the air. We are spiraling, spinning in the tunnel of wind that is throwing us farther and farther back.

I don't let go of Mouse.

**So what did ya think? Good? Bad? Just shoot me a review so I can know, and I am still having the final four contest, in case you might not have read it up at the beginning of this chapter? Anyway, thanks a ton for reading, keep on doing so! The next chapter will be up as soon as possible. **

**XOxo**

**RainbowTeeth8 **


	21. Twenty: The Beast

**Hey! Author's notes are annoying, so I will make it brief! Thanks to all of those who review and tell me what you think! Love you guys!**

Chapter 20

When I was younger, maybe only five years old, I remember getting lost one time at my first trip to the academy. One moment, I was holding tight to my mother's hand, the next I was distracted. My mother was showing Vander something, seeing if he could lift a shield and laughing at his attempt when he toppled over. After all, he had only been six years old.

I wandered far away. I wasn't thinking of my mother, or my brother or father, just marveling at all of the athletic teens, able to throw a spear at a target many feet away, or swing a sword like it was as easy as breathing.

A woman had stopped me, asked me if I knew what I was doing. I was outgoing, even then, and I told her no. She laughed and put a knife in my hand. Told me to throw it at the target. I gave it a toss with all my might.

It hit the target, maybe 50 feet away, but didn't stick into it. I started to cry because I thought I hadn't done it right. The woman explained it was extremely rare that a child my age would even hit the target, and that she was very proud of me. She taught me how to throw it correctly, and the next time I threw the sharp knife, it pierced its way into the target, far from the center, but all the same.

"Irina!" My mother was suddenly crying for me, Vander peeking out from around my elbow. "I told you not to let go of my hand!"

I ran to my mother, excited, even after she got after me for running off. I showed her how I threw a knife at the target, but she just swooped me up into a hug, holding me on her waist, happy to have found me.

The memory sticks in my mind, embedded in my brain. I follow my thoughts, I don't let go. I hold onto Mouse with all my might, not letting her get away from me. She does the same.

It seems like a long time before we land, but in reality, it must only be a few seconds that have gone by. We smack into the surface of our target, and for a second, the impact sinks in, the hard slamming against my cheek, all of my body stings from the impact.

And then we begin to sink.

It takes me a second to regain my voice.

"Mouse!" I cry for her, she seems to have drifted away from me after I let go. I kick hard at the substance trying its hardest to swallow me up. I rise a little bit, and when I kick some more, it is like I am floating.

Mouse and I have landed in water. The ocean near the Cornucopia, to be exact. I taste the salt in my mouth, already.

"Irina!" There is splashing, and I make out Mouse, maybe 100 feet away, kicking frantically to get to me. She sends up a foam of water in her wake as she dog paddles over to me. Neither of us know how to swim, and I am struggling to keep myself afloat.

"I don't know how to swim!" I spit out water, inhaling the salt. It tastes metallic in my mouth and stings my nose so harshly it makes it hard to breathe.

"Me neither!" she cries, closer to me now. I begin struggling closer to her, now, but I am having a hard time making any progress at all.

I turn my body to try and find the shore, all the while struggling and kicking my feet, still seethed in my boots. My heart and stomach both sink.

The Cornucopia, obscured by the sand that is still whipping around on the beach, is just a tiny speck of glittering gold in the sunlight. I can't see anyone standing on the beach, but I can't help imagining Vander on the shore, calling my name. I feel the tide pulling Mouse and I farther out to sea.

I struggle a long time to get to her, that small distance between us. I am exhausted and throbbing in pain when I finally reach her. Her mouse-brown hair is plastered to her forehead, sticking with the salt, and her eyes are red with the same stinging substance.

"Your hand." She whimpers, close to crying.

Suddenly, the adrenaline in my body no longer can keep the pain away. It is literally salt in an open wound, the ocean water washing through the gauze wrapped around my hand, or what is left of it. I let out a shriek of pain and nearly faint from the intensity of the stinging. It is like my hand is on fire, burning, smoldering…

The tears run down my cheeks, hot and salty. Everything around me is salty now.

Mouse and I try our best to stay afloat, but it is hard. So hard, if fact, that I consider letting myself go under to just get it over with. But Vander would never live for that. My father wouldn't, though I no longer care what he thinks. My mother probably has no idea what is even going on. Brutus. Oh Brutus. I cannot think about him.

It seems like it is a long time before we hear the dinging. The sound of a parachute I am familiar with because of my gift from Brutus.

_Ding. Ding. Dong._

_ Ding. Ding. Dong._

The silver parachute meanders down until I lands in the water a few yards away. It floats on top of the water, like it has buoyancy, and slowly drifts with the lapping waves.

I use some of my last strength to leap for the parcel before it can get too far away. Mouse hacks up water when she goes under and re-surfaces; I had been taking a turn to hold her up the best I could.

I hold the package to my chest with my arm, using my feet to try and stay above the water, and use my last remaining hand to open the large, silver package. The blood form my hand gets all over the slick, silver metal, making it slippery. This is not good, if I am bleeding in the water, I am leaving a trail, or scent rather.

"What is it?" Mouse speaks weakly, the first time I have heard her voice in a while. "Irina, let me see."

I pull the object from the silver package, straightening it out. I thank the heavens, or rather the sponsors who sent us this gift from the sky.

It is one life jacket, yellow and foamy, yet it will hold us up. I dig a knife out that is still in my jacket, one that hasn't come out in our tumble in the sky, and cut the chute loose from the floating silver box. My hand is trembling and pruned, my skin pulled tight together. It looks like a rippled across my skin, and as I have learned from the survival station at the training center, the salt water will eventually start dissolving out skin. Especially me, with my hand. And we have no idea what types of bacteria could be in the water.

"You wear it." Mouse pipes up.

"I think we can share." Actually, since the two of us don't know who sent the jacket, either District 1 or District 2, so neither of us has a total claim to the precious gem of a gift. "The package will float, too, we can take turns."

I use the strings of the parachute to tie the silver package to the jacket, so we won't drift away from each other, and rather than one putting the jacket on, Mouse spreads it open as far as she can, giving me room to hold onto that along with the package. We hold on like this for a long time, not speaking, floating. The shore quickly disappears, and there is nothing around us but water.

The night falls, marking our sixth day in the Arena. I know neither of us say it, but I can tell Mouse is thinking it, and so am I. Possibly, this is our last day in the Arena.

I drift in and out of consciousness throughout the night, every once and a while sort of drifting off so I am almost half-sleeping, if that is such a thing. The only noise is Mouse's breathing beside me, and the lapping of the waves as they fold over on each other.

I nudge Mouse awake as the sun comes up, welcoming day 7 in the Arena. If we were with the Careers, we would be celebrating. Instead, we are adrift at sea with no land mass in sight. All I see is the ocean, going farther and farther than I can see in all directions. This is probably just a trick of the Gamemakers, there is no way they could fit an entire ocean in one Arena.

Mouse and I don't talk much. We are both worrying about our fate. What happens to us. If we will die in this water. And our throats hurt too much from the salt water. My hands still leaves a trail of blood. In fact, I have lost so much of my precious crimson liquid, I become a bit light-headed at times and faint for a few minutes. Mouse always makes sure I wake up again. Even if she could kill me right now, which she probably could, she has the upper hand, I can understand that no one wants to be alone out here. In this freezing, cold ocean full of God knows what.

I think a lot about home. Things I could have done differently. Helped my mother more in her earlier stages of sickness. Then maybe neither I nor Vander would be here right now, if she stood up for us like she once did. Our father might have still loved us, if our mother hadn't went crazy. He would still laugh, help my mother make dinner, even after a long day at work. She might swat him playfully with a dish towel for burning the potatoes, but she would make them taste good again, somehow. Vander and I would pretend to be disgusted when he kissed her for being such a good cook, but secretly, we would really be happy inside.

Sometime during all of this drifting, the thought of having a family of my own comes up. Of course, that is not truly a possibility anymore, but I still find comfort in thinking about it. Sometimes, I envision myself married to Brutus, sometimes it is just a faceless man. But I always have a little boy. He looks just like Vander, strong, even when he is young, the same blue eyes. The contagious smile. I think if I were at that age, taking a long look at my son, I would know he would be well-loved in school, just like Vander is. I come to terms in my mind that Vander will always be the favored child. Not to my mother of course, but my father always saw his strength from the beginning. When he was popular at school, I was the one eating by myself at lunch. I remember wishing someone would sit down next to me in class, _anyone_. I now feel grateful I have had all that time on my own to think, to plan. It has made me more powerful.

And then when I can no longer think of anymore possible details, I think only of Brutus. His soft lips on mine, the taste of his mouth. The way he held me that one moment before I was sent into the Arena. The moment that is our secret. The feelings we shared together, all ours and for no one else.

"Two for mirth." I think to myself. The crow's poem describes all sorts of different feelings, sorrow, joy. I am the lone crow. One for sorrow. But together, Brutus and I are two. That makes the two of us mirth.

"Irina." I hear a squeak to my left. Mouse I frozen, holding onto her side of the jacket and box. I realize she must have been calling for me more than once now, I was just too busy thinking to notice. "_Irina_."

I follow her gaze, wondering what has been troubling her. My breath freezes in my throat, and my heart hammers away faster than it has since I have been in the Arena. Mouse is whimpering, I can hear her, watching the slate-gray fin break the surface of the water, not 10 feet away from us. It is getting closer, _closer_.

Mouse lets out a petrified whimper.

"Mouse, be v_ery_ quiet." I demand of her. As slowly as I can, I remove my bloody stump from the water, holding it to my chest. It is probably too late, I know that, but if I can mask the scent even the tiniest bit.

"_Irina_." She sobs, quivering and whimpering again. When she says my name, a shiver runs down my spine, watching the fin comes closer and closer, every now and then disappearing from the surface of the water.

Finally, the gray fin is gone, under the water. Mouse and I wait several minutes before I let out the long breath I was holding in, and she begins to relax.

"I think it's gone." I whisper, like the creature can hear me if I talk loud enough. "Shh, Mouse. It's gone. You can relax."

I see her body unstiffen bit-by-bit, her shoulders relaxing, her muscles un-tensing down her back.

"Do you think it – "

Mouse never has time to finish her sentence. With a splash of white foam and a wave of water, I am thrown back as the beast breaks through the water's surface, jaws open.

**Ok, did you like it? Sorry to leave it like this, but just tell me whatcha think. The new chapter will be up soon, I hope. **

**~Rainbow**


	22. Twenty-One: The Kill

**First, I would like to apologize for not updating in so long. School has been so hectic, and I could sit here making excuses all day. Truth is, I haven't had much time, but I am going to start updating again now. Hopefully, I still have my followers? If I don't, I can understand that you are mad at me for not updating. Please read, even though it's been so long that you probably forgot what happens….**

**XOxo,**

**Rainbow Teeth.**

**Chapter 21**

I am immediately thrown backwards as giant waves disturb the surface of the calm water, smacking painful into the salty water. Salt stings my eyes as I fumble to try and stay afloat. I have been holding onto the life jacket so long, it is like I don't know how to move my legs any longer. So I sink, arms flailing for the disappearing surface above, legs refusing the move.

I force my eyes open underwater, still unable to move, yet unwilling to give up. The salt hurts them more than ever, but I manage to squint into the murky depths. I am tangled in a patch of heavy, drifting seaweed, which seems to be pulling me down even further.

Something moves in the water, something large ad horrifying. The rust colored blood, still from my hand, or lack-there-of, clouds the water around me, attracting the beast. I flail my limbs again, unsuccessfully attempting to get away from the aquatic fear. But it is too late, it runs into me, jaw open, its dirty, sharp teeth visible even to me in this limited vision.

I thrust my hands out in front of me, the last few bubbles of air escaping from my mouth. My lungs scream, but all feeling is knocked from me as the shark collides with me, head-first.

The impact is harsh. Its teeth skim my shoulder, producing more blood, a trail for it to follow. But I break the surface of the water, gasping for the air I so desperately need. I hack up water, coughing and gagging, still struggling to stay afloat.

"Irina!" There is a petrified scream from far away, and I spot Mouse, still clinging to the life jacket. I paddle weakly to her, unaware of where the predator has gone.

"Mouse!" I cry between hacks. "Mouse, I'm right here-" I spew water again, whatever of what was in my stomach coming up with it. "I'm coming to you!"

"Irina!" There is another desperate squeak. "Iri-"

Mouse never finishes her sentence. The shark, jaw open, breaks the surface right below her, swallowing nearly half of her with it as it sinks into the murky depths once again.

Stunned, I begin to paddle as fast as I can to her, finding the strength in my wasted body. I move slowly, but it is as fast as I can afford without killing myself in the process.

Don't be dead, don't be d_ead_. I moan to myself. She isn't dead, she c_an't_ be.

The area around Mouse is completely red, like someone has spilled oil in water and I floats on the top. Her body is beginning to sink, or what is left of it is. My worst fears become true, the shark has disappeared back into the depths of the ocean with nearly half of Mouse with it. Her right arm, most of her right leg, most of her shoulder, a grazing of flesh ripped open on her side. Her eyes stare in shock, if she is even still alive. The only thing that keeps her afloat is the bloody life jacket her left wrist is attached to by the piece of string I had tied on.

"Mouse." I sob, splashing to her side, suddenly able to stay afloat, my head hardly above the water. "Mouse, are you alive?"

A gentle gurgling noise comes from her throat as blood spills over her red face. Her brown hair fans out around her in the water, like a wreath around her head. Somehow, her body is still working enough to force the blood back up her throat.

"Mouse." Is all I can say. I wrap my arms around what is left of her and cry. To me, it looks like she is crying too, but it could be just the ocean water on her cheeks. "Mouse, oh, I'm so sorry, Mouse, _oh_."

Her pained expression somehow shifts to a gentler, tender gaze. Her brown eyes tell me it is not my fault, that it is alright. That she won't be suffering anymore.

"I'm sorry for calling you Mouse." I whisper, sobbing, my broken body shaking with sobs. "I didn't mean it, I thought you were – different."

"Shhh." She hardly says through the blood and pain, but I understand what she says. "J-J-"

"Mouse, shhh, no, you don't have to try and say anything." I hold her close, oddly holding only part of a body.

She cocks her head like she is a machine, an old rusty one that takes a long, drawn-out motion to do something as simple as a head turn.

"J-Juliet." She whispers, her eyes brimming with tears. "N-not M-Mouse."

Her real name. Her true, real name given to her by the parents that loved her. That put her through the Career training in order to be rich. A name so gentle, like a flower, that no matter how she looked, her name would always be remembered instead of her face. My stomach hurts so badly for giving her the horrible nickname. "Shhh. I'm so sorry, Juliet. I'm sorry."

Her bloody, red slips curl into something of a smile, showing her stained, yellow teeth.

And then, she goes limp, her brown eyes staring off into nothingness. Juliet is gone. Not Mouse. Juliet. And I couldn't save her. I couldn't do anything more. Suddenly, I have something in my stomach to vomit up, a bile taste of stomach acid as a wretch face-down in the water.

When my stomach decides to stop torturing me, I thrust my aching head up from the water, gasping and crying. Through the tears, I unclip the wristet of the life jacket from Juilet and tie it around my own wrist. Her body begins to sink, but I use nearly all the strength I have to keep her above the water.

The silent hovercraft appears without any noise, its claw dropping down to retrieve the bloody mess of body parts from my arms. I give Juliet a silent goodbye, crying even harder, so hard I don't even make a sound. As she is lifted away, blood from her wet body rains down upon me, splattering my face.

When the craft is gone, I somehow fit my limbs into the jacket, now able to have it to myself. I still feel guilty about it, though, and I try my hardest not to think of the events that just occurred. I know almost positively that the shark will not come back. The Gamemakers' goal of the creature was to end one of us, and it wasn't me. The other, which is myself, will drift aimlessly, alone, with no hope of rescue. Welcome to the tortures of the Hunger Games, I think to myself.

Sometimes I let the waves take me under, not even struggling against their strong pull. I breathe only when I am above the waves, which isn't often. I wonder to myself why they won't let me die, why they won't let the misery just end.

But then I think of Vander, my brother, who is in here for me in the first place. He could be dead. When they project the faces in the sky, I was so absorbed in simply drifting that I didn't look to see if anyone had died. I tell myself that he is alive, for I could not live with myself if Vander was dead.

And so I drift, my mutilated hand a mess of chopped off skin and infection. I can feel the infection taking over, actually, because it tingles all the way up and down my arm, and every now and then I pass out with shock and pain. Also, my arm seems to be turning black, a tell-tale sign of disease. I find myself not even caring anymore. I just want someone to hold me when I wake up from this never-ending nightmare. But there is no one there, so I imagine the sea's rocking waves my mother gently cradling me, before she went insane, singing to me, kissing my forehead as she used to.

I finally close my eyes, not wanting to see my surrounds ever again. I feel the skin falling from my pruned hands and infected stump. Soon I will be dead; one can simply not be in salt water this long. I now understand the horror of dying, because it is so close. I imagine Brutus, his half smirk, the way I made Lyme mad when he preferred me, a sixteen year old girl who would probably die in a death match. I laugh to myself, but it comes out a groan.

The waves pull my back and forth gently, urging me on now, like they want me to keep going. I tell them insanely to stop it, but of course, they are waves, so they don't listen. I open my eyes a final time to see a strip of land in the distance. I smile to myself.

"I guess you did make it, Irina." I think to myself. Now you can die.

Smiling, I close myself once again, letting the waves pull me once more.

Hardly conscious, I feel my legs brushing something after a long time. Probably a sand bar, I think to myself. Nothing more. But the water still urges me on, and soon my face is pressed to a gritty, grainy substance I know is sand. I did make it, I made it all the way to land.

I lie there a long time, pretending it is a comfortable bed, not gravely sand, and breathe deeply. The tingling sensation in my arm reaches all the way to my shoulder, and painful zapping runs down the infected area. Soon it will be in my brain, this infection. And I will be able to feel parasites in it, crawling around and eating the tissue.

Shouting meets my ears a long while later, but I don't open my eyes. It seems like an illusion, the voices, because one even sounds like my brother.

"Irina!" There is a deep shout. "God DAMN it, open your eyes, PLEASE!" The voice is very desperate. "IRINA RADKE, you are NOT dead, PLEASE!"

I lazily smile to myself, which feels much more like a grimace. Someone touches my face, and I flinch away.

"Claudia, she's alive, look! DAMN IT!" Vander's voice shouts again. "Irina, I KNOW that you are alive!"

"Then stop shouting about it." I mumble into the sand, my voice only a salty cough. But he hears it. I open my eyes weakly, the sun hurting them.

"Oh, GOD!" He yells, throwing his arms around me. I am limp, but he holds me up in his strong arms, not letting me fall. Claudia's blonde hair indicates her presence with my eyes not well adjusted to seeing just yet. "Irina, OH."

"Please kill me." I whisper, but he doesn't hear me, or he pretends not to. "Please, brother."

"Claudia, get her medicine." He tells her, and the blonde girl leaves, returning with the medicine I recognize from what seems like forever ago. He takes a large amount of it in his palm and starts smearing it on my numb arm. If I was more conscious right now, I would be screaming in pain as he touched my severed hand.

"What the hell happened?!" I hear the female voice demand again. "Where's Mouse?!"

"Juliet." I hiss, hating the nickname I bestowed upon her. Vander shushes her questions and forces water down my throat, which I vomit back up almost immediately. He gives me smaller sips, which my weak stomach is able to keep down.

"Where's Edwin?" I groan.

"Dead." Vander grimaces. "I'll explain later. All we need to do right now is make sure you're alright."

**Sorry if this was lame or anything, I tried my best after not writing for two months. EEEEP! Oh well, please read anyway, and spread the word so I can get some new readers! And don't forgot to review! **

**XOxo,**

**RainbowTeeth**


	23. Twenty-Two: The Remembered

**Hola, mi amigos! Sorry it has been soooo long, but now that it is summer, I can update regularly again! To all my reviewers still out there, please give it a go and tell me what you think! The end is near, in the words of Irina! Thanks you guys!**

**Chapter Twenty-Two**

"The same thing happened to Edwin that happened to Gerrit." Vander explains once I am stable enough to comprehend anything. "Just woke up when he was supposed to be keeping watch. His throat was slit, no noise, no sign of a predator."

"Juliet is gone, too." I croak out through my salt-coated throat.

"Juliet?" Vander questions, but Claudia nudges his arm.

"Mouse." She whispers to him, almost too quiet for me to hear. "How did she – go, Irina?"

I whimper try to force the tears down. The lump in my throat is so large now, it nearly blocks my airway. Too soon, it is too soon.

"Claudia." Vander warns, pressing his hand to my cheek gently. My brother is something I realize I need to hold onto, the only thing that can keep my sane at the moment. He is real, therefore I am real. What else is real?

"What?" The blonde flips her impossibly beautiful hair over her shoulder that shines like corn silk in the sun. "Irina's a big girl. I don't think she needs her big brother to wipe her piddle little tears."

With this, Vander shuns her by turning his shoulder. Instead, he tells me something even more shocking that I never would have expected.

"We're the only ones left." He coos with a smooth of my hair. Part of it are caking together with the welding of the salt, and it is impossible to comb fingers through it. "There are us four."

"Four?"

"One more. Iris is somewhere in the forest. We didn't go looking for, we wanted to find you first, before we went."

Claudia snorts from her stop at she polishes her club, and something tells me she did not agree with Vander about his decision.

"I want to end this." I touch the tight jacket that is still strapped around my waist, feeling how many knives are still in place. I count 7, the rest lost. Brutus' is still here, yes, so that makes eight.

"It's almost over." He promises with his silky voice that comforts me to no end. It always has, my big brother's protecting nature.

"Help me up." I wave my newly-bandaged hand in the air, like I am waving a flag to the Capitol. "Please Vander."

He takes my good hand, sliding his palm down my arm to pull me up lopsidedly. I find my balance, standing for the first time in a long time. Oddly, though I have been drifting in the ocean for over a day and night, I feel like I could run 10 miles, that I could sprint the entire length of the Arena, however long that may be. This new adrenaline gives me a strength I didn't know I still had in me. Vander must live. He _must_.

"Feels good to stand." I clear my throat.

"I bet." Vander les Claudia go first, and she wields her club angrily.

Vander and I share a look, knowing what each other is thinking. It has come to the point in the Games, the final four, that it needs to become the final three. Usually, the Careers end up turning on each other when there are too many of them and sometimes killing in their sleep. It must be Vander and I and no one else. He nods as I silently take a knife soundlessly from my vest.

Claudia doesn't know what hit her as the knife hit the divot directly beneath her hairline. She falls forward as the life leaves her body, and I retrieve my knife again.

"I'm sorry, Claudia." I whisper as her body seizes a few times before it goes still. Vander gingerly rolls her over as I reposition the knife in my vest, and the both of us kneel next to her.

"So am I." Vander strokes her cheek and her beautiful, blonde hair gets tucked behind her ear by his gentle fingers. "Maybe in another life, we could have been together."

I remember Claudia's flirtatious behavior toward my brother, and the way he had somewhat returned her feelings, knowing that it never could be. I can actually see the two of them together, if not for the Games.

"You weren't too bad, vixen." I whisper my last goodbye, and Vander leans in to press his lips to her sunburnt forehead. He nudges each of his thumbs over her eyelids so they close over her glassy eyes, and stands up.

"Come on, Rina." He touches my good hand and holds it in his for a moment. Symbolizing that we are still together, still united. Brother and sister. Irina and Vander.

We leave Claudia's body, which is picked up shortly after by the Capitol hovercraft. I am happy I left her body somewhat intact, because she was always so beautiful and I wouldn't want to ruin that last fact about her. We walk into the desert, stopping at the Cornucopia to eat a last meal and drink as much water as we can.

"Hunger Games sandwich." Vander hands me two slices of stale bread with a slab of preserved turkey between it. I grin and take a bite, eating slowly. I know better than to scarf it down. I learned in training before the Games that if you haven't eaten in a while, you could get violently sick if you ate too fast. Worst comes worst, your stomach could twist.

"Luxury in the Arena." I wink, chewing on the stale bread that is better than almost anything I have ever tasted, it seems like. I lean back against a box and drink from a canteen. The water is not cold, but not boiling how it had been when the desert biome had been in place, and I drink throughout the hour until the entire canteen in emptied.

"Irina?" Vander asks from his own position, lying on one of the discarded winter coat.

"Yeah?" I reply, holding up my bandaged stump to stare at it. I've been doing that a lot, lately. It fascinates me, if anything, and I get the urge to look at it.

"Remember that time Mom was in one of her good moods." He lies on his back, running his hands through his beautiful, blonde curls. "When she was at one of her all-time highs, and she took us out of school and we made dinner together?"

"Yeah, I remember." I smile at the memory. Mom's disorder causes her to have the highest of highs, followed by the lowest of lows. That day, our mother had taken us out of school and she had more ingredients in the kitchen than a restaurant would have needed. We made dinner for our father, and even though it tasted disgusting, he grinned and ate it anyway while I sat on his lap.

"That was a good day." He sighs, remembering. "I miss Mom."

"So do I." I breathe out a crippled breath. "The old Mom."

"I don't miss Dad, though." He says with truth, and I nod in pure agreement. I would miss our old father, the one who used to bounce me on his knee when I was young, or the one who stayed up with me all night when I had a terrible cough and couldn't breathe. That father I miss. It's the new father that arrived when I started getting my own opinions, and our mother got sick…

_When I come home from training, the house is a mess. Pots and pan strewn all about, the entire contents of our cupboards smashed on the ground, a knife in the wall, all of the cushions off the couches and chairs. I set my bag down and peek around the corner, and step into the hallway._

_ Water soaks my sneaker, and I look down to see that the entire hallway is flooded with water, coming from the bathroom. I splash quickly to turn the faucet and bathtub off, and unplug anything electronic I see in the house. The last thing we need is an electrocution. _

_ "Mom?" I call with fright, clomping up the stairs with my wet shoes. With each step, it makes a squishing noise, like I'm walking along in grape jelly. "Mom, are you here?"_

_ The house is silent and does not speak back to me. I poke my head into my room, which has not been touched because the door was closed. Down the hallway, there is a soft humming noise and quiet sobs._

_ "Mom." I sigh with relief, finding her leaned against her and Dad's bed. Only she sleeps here now, her husband has opted to sleep elsewhere, such as the couch. I kneel next to her and try to get her to take her hands from her ears. She rocks back and forth._

_ "It hurts so much." She moans, holding her head and rocking. "Irina, it hurts so much." Her eyes squint shut_ _and she purses her lips in pain._

_ "What hurts?" I shake her shoulders, but she falls limp. "Mom!"_

_ "My head." She whispers, leaning against me. "Irina, make it stop."_

_ She has never been like this before. She has always gotten better and made Dad happy. Vander and I always clean up the mess before he got home. _

_ "I can't. I can't make it stop." I feel tears brimming in my eyes, and they spill over. In another time, when she used to be well, she would have wiped them away and held me. But now she is totally unresponsive, rocking and moaning. _

_ "Make it stop." She whispers again, like a childish broken record._

_ "Irina?!" I hear a shout from downstairs, and the front door closes with a slam. "What the Hell?! Where is your mother?!"_

_ "Come on, Mom, come _on_." I urge her to get up and face Dad. I can't do it alone. I can't do it without Vander. He will think it is all my fault. "Get up, get up!"_

_ "Irina Radke!" Another shout sounds from upstairs, and breaking glass shatters loudly. "For the love of-"_

_ I jump up and race down the stairs, skidding to a stop in the wet kitchen. The water has leaked all the way here now, and my enraged father is standing an inch deep in it._

_ "Where the Hell is your mother?!" He is suddenly in my face, his own face florid and tomato-red with anger. "I come home to the house looking like _this_?!"_

_ "It isn't my fault!" I sob, wanting so much to blame my mother. But it isn't her fault, it is her disorder that makes her become so depressed. Why can't she be normal again, why can't she be a normal mom!_

_ My father strikes me hard across the cheek, a heavy blow from his closed fist. It sends my backwards into the kitchen table, and I stare up at him, stunned, my face throbbing. My lip has been grazed, and a drop of blood dribbles down my chin._

_ As I try to stand up, another strong blow propels me backwards, this time in the stomach. I gasp and choke, trying to get air into my lungs with no avail. I sprawl on my hands and knees, getting soaked and gag up whatever had been in my stomach last. The blow was so hard, it causes me to wretch uncontrollably and painfully, sucking in half as much air as I actually need._

_ "You rotten, bastard children!" My father roars, his dark hair, the same shade as mine, hanging in his face with rage. Spittle flies from his open mouth as he pants, like beating me is hard work. I pray someone will hear his yelling and come to save me. But I know that will not happen. My father is a higher-up of District 2, and any way he treats his children will be looked over by the council. He is a god in this household._

_ "I'm sorry." I struggle to breathe, hoping an apology will help. He kicks me with his heavy, steel-toed boot, knocking me breathless once again. I lie choking in the water._

_ Through blurred vision, I see someone else in the kitchen now. Someone with blonde hair, a boy almost as tall as my father. He is throwing punches at him now, strong ones that send my attacker reeling off balance. _

_ Vander._

_ My mind sighs the name with relief. He will always protect me. Someday I will pay him back. For saving me from being beaten to death._

I remember that day clearly now as my brother sits across from me, so ready to die for me like he had done that day not so long ago. Since then, I have learned to protect myself from such attacks, but Vander has always been there by my side. It is time to pay him back for saving my life.

The cost is my own life.

"It's almost the end." I say, looking him straight in the glassy, blue eyes. "It's almost here."

"Soon." He whispers, though I can tell he does not want to think about it. Neither do I, but the thoughts persist. "Time to get out of here."

I don't know if he means for me or for himself.

**Sorry if this chapter is boring. If you can tell, I am setting it up for the last moments in the Arena. So, please review and tell me what you want to see happen in the last battle! I will put in any ideas you guys tell me. :D Thanks again!**

**Rainbow**


End file.
